Fractured Triangle
by Fyrie
Summary: Just before seventh year starts, something happens to Hermione that will change the trio's friendship forever. Warnings - rape Please note - mostly written in 2003 so any canon after that is NOT included. CH. 15 ADDED - July 15th 2011
1. Chapter One

It was strange weather for late August.

There had been a heat wave throughout the summer, which had almost baked the country to a standstill, but in the last week, it felt like every drop of rain that had been gathered over those six long weeks was falling from the sky in one long surge. 

Shaking her umbrella as she pushed the door open, Hermione Granger stepped into the Leaky Cauldron, followed by her parents, pushing back dampened curls of unruly hair from her face.

As usual, the pub was lit only by lanterns here and there and a few grubby windows, although the dark clouds outside had made it even gloomier than usual. A few rain-drenched witches and wizards were clearly taking some time in the little pub to warm up and dry off.

A friendly roaring fire was blazing in the huge, stone grate that took up a large part of the wall to the left of the door, surrounded by a group, each of whom was gripping a tankard and talking quietly to those seated nearby.

A few faces had turned in the young witch's direction, to see whom the new arrival at The Leaky Cauldron was. 

On the far side of the pub, a pair of cool grey eyes regarded her, unnoticed. They remained on her as she shook her mass of brown hair out from the collar of the jacket she was wearing to shield herself from the rain that was lashing against the grotty windowpanes of the pub.

With the threat of even worse weather in Oxford, where they lived, her parents had decided it would be wiser to bring her to London a few days early. It was a precaution, in case there were any landslides on the roads that might cause problems when they had to bring her to catch the Hogwarts Express.

After all, they couldn't have her missing school, not now.

Hermione was almost seventeen-years old and was just about to start her seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where she had just been given the post of Head Girl, much to her delight.

If all went well, in ten months she would graduate from the school as a fully-fledged witch, a far and fantastic cry from her parents careers as dentists.

Both of her parents were non-magical people, muggles, and they had been thrilled and stunned when Hermione had received the letter from the school, which invited her to study at Hogwarts, seven years before.

In her triad of friends, she was the only one to be muggle-born. Harry Potter was the son of a muggle-born witch and a pureblood wizard, while Ron Weasley was from a pureblood family that dated back generations and she loved them both to bits.

They were going to be joining her soon, she knew and she couldn't wait to see them both again. It had been almost ten weeks since she had seen Harry and just over four since she had seen Ron.

However, since Harry and Ron would be arriving the next day and it was another day after that until they were to go to school, she was still wearing muggle clothing: a knee-length black skirt, grey tights and roll-neck emerald green jumper.

She was the first to admit that she was as interested in fashion and co-ordination as Ron was interested in adopting an army of black widow spiders.

Even the thought of Ron drew a smile from the young witch. 

The red-haired boy, so very different from her in nature, who had been a best friend to her and Harry since first year, had finally asked her if she would be his girlfriend in the second term of fifth year.

True, it hadn't exactly been romantic.

First, there had been the threat of Voldemort, which still overshadowed everything that they were doing. Hogwarts was still considered the safest place in the wizarding world, though, and while she worried about her parents, they assured her that she should finish her magical training so she could defend them against him, should the need arise.

Secondly, there had been the whole school still up in arms about what had really happened to Cedric Diggory, many still deeply suspicious of Harry. 

It was only when Cho Chang - Cedric's former girlfriend and the girl who Harry held a flame for - told Harry that she believed he was innocent that things had started to return to normal, or as normal as things could be at Hogwarts. 

With everything that was happening surrounding those situations, none of the trio had been very interested in the trivial pursuit of dating, the craze which seemed to have a firm grasp on all of the fifth years and above. 

On Valentine's morning, Ron and Hermione had both been in the minority that hadn't received a card. Ron had ponderously suggested that maybe they should do each other a favour and be a couple, to save the time and effort of moping over their lack of having a certain someone.

Convenient, yes. 

However, the first time they had kissed...

Hermione went pink at the memory. 

Something in the kiss had confirmed that she was more than just a convenience.

It had been awkward, a little shy, but then he had kissed her, right in front of the rest of the fifth years, ignoring the whoops and laughter from Seamus, Dean and Neville, she had been convinced she was melting, even though she knew it was impossible. 

After all, she had read about it.

Melting and kissing.

They weren't meant to mix, but that was certainly what she had felt like when Ron's mouth had met hers, which was currently spreading into a wide grin.

It was definitely going to be nice to see him again.

Especially since she, Ron and Harry were being left to their own devices for the most part, while they stayed in Diagon Alley, while Molly Weasley occupied herself with keeping Ginny in line. 

More importantly, she and Ron would be able to have some time together. 

Alone time.

A delicious tremor of anticipation ran through her and she went a bit pinker, turning her attention back to her parents, who were standing behind her, drying themselves off. Her father glanced at his watch.

"We certainly made it in good time," he said cheerfully, running a hand over his thinning hair. "Hermione, perhaps we should get your trunks and things up to the room and out of the way?"

"I'll get the keys, dad," she replied, weaving her way around the narrow tables and chairs, careful not to stand on any robes or feet as she passed. Old Tom, the owner of the Leaky Cauldron gave her a toothy smile. "Hello, Tom." 

"Good afternoon to you, Miss Granger. Wanting into your rooms?"

"Yes, please," she smiled. As always, he remembered her. More than likely because of her famed friendship with Harry Potter. He gave her a nod and hurried to get the guest registry for the upper floors of the pub.

Leaning on the bar, she glanced around for any familiar faces. She was sure she wouldn't be the only person who would be coming down to London earlier than usual, thanks to the horrendous weather.

A group of Ministry wizards, looking worn and harassed, were seated at a small knot of tables further up the room, muttering to one another. She spotted Professors Sprout and Sinistra talking quietly at one of the tables near the wall and smiled over at them, receiving a smile and wave from both of the teachers.

Letting her attention move on around the room, a cold feeling spread through her stomach when she found a pair of familiar eyes gazing at her from an equally familiar pale, pointed face. 

Only, this was the Senior face. 

Lucius Malfoy.

Although she couldn't say what it was specifically, there was something in the cool expression of the wizard that made her feel like she was being mentally dissected by him. It wasn't a pleasant sensation.

She had only had the misfortune of running into him once, when she, Harry and the Weasleys had been in Flourish and Blotts, almost five years earlier, and she had seen immediately where Draco, Harry's nemesis and Lucius Malfoy's only son, had picked up the unsavoury traits of his personality.

She had seen Lucius Malfoy on several occasions since then and knew that he had seen her. 

The closest she had been to him was at the Quidditch World Cup and the look he had given her was one of such disdain and arrogance, that she had hoped she would never have him anywhere near enough for her to see his facial expression.

Looking away sharply, she couldn't have been more relieved when Tom returned with the keys for the two rooms that she and her parents would be staying in. 

With the quill he offered, she scratched her name into the massive, leather-bound registry which he had negotiated onto the wide bar, took the heavy keys and hurried back to her parents.

As they made their way towards the stairs, she couldn't help shooting a furtive look at Lucius Malfoy. She had hoped he would be gone. She really didn't feel comfortable to have him in the same building as her muggle parents.

Unfortunately, he hadn't moved.

Steeped in the shadows from the overhanging edge of the bar, a swathe of light cut across his pale face. His eyes drifted from her to her father, who was helping her carry the trunk, and mother, who was carrying Crookshanks and one of Hermione's bags.

Pursing her lips, the young witch flashed a dark look at him.

If he even tried to harm her parents...

His cold grey eyes came back to hers and one of his brows rose, as if querying what she was thinking. With a last scowl in his direction, Hermione turned back to the trunk she was carrying and helped her father steer it up the stairs.

***

Folding her new robes, Hermione placed them in her open trunk that she was kneeling in front of, smoothing the black material with one hand, as she reached for the next item in the pile beside her.

They had arrived so much earlier than expected that she and her parents had decided to get all her school things out of the way, so they could spend a little more time together in London the next morning, before Harry and Ron did arrive.

The rain was still pelting against the window ferociously and Hermione glanced up as a flash of light flickered through the closed window suggested that a storm was building not too far away.

She was kneeling on the floor of her single room, next to her bed and in front of her large trunk. All of her new things were heaped carefully beside her, in a specifically ordered pile. 

Her parents were in the adjoining room and had cheerfully left her to pack the trunk herself because she was always so particular about how she packed everything. They had taken Crookshanks with them, because he tended to curl up either inside the trunk or on top of her fresh, clean clothes, while she tried to pack, so it was safer to have him out of the way.

Humming to herself, she got to her feet and went to retrieve the fresh pack of quills that she had left on the dressing table, which stood on the other side of the bed. 

The mirror on the table had been removed when the previous guest had complained, because it had incessantly wolf-whistled at them when they were dressing. 

Hermione couldn't help being a little grateful as she knew that her hair was probably going into wild ringlets, after she had been caught in a sudden shower in Diagon Alley, and most mirrors happily teased her for it.

When flash-showers happened in Diagon Alley, they really came down in buckets and Hermione and her parents had all been soaked to the skin by the time they had managed to wade back to the Leaky Cauldron. 

Her skirt and jumper were both hanging up to dry on hangers on the wardrobe door, opposite the dresser, forming little puddles on the wooden floor. 

She had resorted to wearing her thick, cosy red dressing gown, so she wouldn't have to waste any more clothes than necessary before she left for school. After all, it was a bit stupid, she thought, to wear more than two sets of clothes a day.

Collecting the quills, she snatched her small notebook from the end of the bed, as she returned to the trunk and knelt back down. Tucking the quills into the protective pocket on the lid, she checked her list.

All books.

Check.

Quills.

Check.

Parchment. 

Check.

Robes.

Check.

Potions equipment.

Check.

All that left to be re-packed into the neatly arranged trunk were her clothes and school uniform, which were currently heaped in ironed and carefully folded, colour-orientated piles on the bed.

Rising on her knees, she grabbed the pile of white shirts and dragged them towards the end of the bed, a boom of thunder overhead making her jump in fright, then laugh softly at her own nervousness.

A click from behind her, the sound of the door being closed, made her turn in surprise, wondering if one of her parents wanted something.

Her heart jumped painfully against her ribcage at the sight of none other than Lucius Malfoy standing by the door, gazing down at her, his left hand resting casually on the serpent's head of his cane.

One hand instinctively going to her wand, which lay on the floor beside her right knee, she tried to convince her legs to move and get her to her feet, a bitter, burning sensation spreading through her stomach.

Something told her he hadn't accidentally walked into her room by chance and the calm, chilling smile on his lips was definitely not making her feel any more comfortable to see him.

"M-Mr. Malfoy," His cold, silvery gaze was making her feel nervous. "Would you mind leaving my room, please?"

"Such a polite young woman," he murmured. "As I expected," His smile shifted into more of a smirk. "And such...interesting ideas of fashion."

Scrambling to her feet, her wand gripped in her right hand, Hermione's other hand came up to close over the neck of her dressing gown, her cheeks flaming. "I-I would like you to leave my room."

"I'm sure you would, Miss Granger," he replied, gazing steadily at her. Once more, she felt like something that was about to be cut open for examination. "However, I have come here to talk to you and I intend to do so."

Raising her wand, she pointed it at him. It was shaking, but she couldn't give one reason in particular why. "Get out of my room...please."

"Dear dear, Miss Granger," he said, one brow rising. "I thought you were intelligent and yet, you direct your wand at a member of the Ministry of Magic, while you are underage and unable to use it outwith school," He smiled and she fought the urge to back away. "Now, wouldn't it be simply awful if you were expelled before you could complete your final year?"

"What do you want?" she asked, stepping back, her wand dropping back to her side in defeat.

It was very stupid, she realised the next moment, not to use the emergency wizarding act as an excuse, as his right hand swept across his body and with a twist, he jerked the snake head of his cane free, revealing a wand. "_Expelliarmus_." 

It was said almost casually, but Hermione was blasted backwards onto her bed, her wand flying from her fingers. She landed with a jarring jolt, gasping in pain, her dressing gown falling open.

Retrieving her wand with a simple summoning spell, Lucius Malfoy approached the bed with a lazy tread, gazing down at the girl, who was struggling to sit up and trying to pull the dressing gown closed around her body.

The tip of his cane came up and he stilled her hand, leaving her bared but for her plain white underwear, making her look up at him in panic and fear.

"My son tells me that you are involved with one of Arthur Weasley's spawn," he said, his expression neutral. His eyes flicked down her body, then back to her face, which she was sure was white. "Well? Is it true?"

She felt sick, a hot burning feeling building rapidly in her gut. "Y-yes," she replied, wondering if he would leave if she answered all that he asked.

"Interesting," his tone suggested he didn't really think so. Hermione started to edge backwards up the bed, staring at him. "It is almost a pity that you are the mudblood and he is the pureblood."

"Why-why would you say that?" she whispered.

His hooded silver eyes came to her eyes. "You certainly aren't as physically repulsive as some of the cretins in that family," he said in a tone of voice that she didn't really like at all. 

Edging sideways, she managed to slide off the bed and onto her feet, pulling her dressing gown tightly closed around her body, her eyes darting to the door that lead to her parents adjoining double room. 

"I-I-I think you should leave," she started to try and edge past the end of the bed, where Malfoy was standing. If she could just manage to get one step past him, she would be able to reach the door...

His lips lifted in that smirk she had seen so often on Draco Malfoy's face. However, it had never seemed quite as sinister as it did on Lucius Malfoy's face. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Miss Granger. At least, not yet. I came here for a reason, you see."

"A-a reason?"

"Well, several reasons, if you must know," He glanced to the window as another flash of lightening split the sky and Hermione took that as her chance, running to the door that lead to her parents room, yanking the handle.

It didn't move.

Throwing all her weight on the handle, Hermione released an anguished sob of panic and frustration, her chest heaving as she tried to draw enough breath to stop herself from falling as waves of dizziness pounded in on her, her body tingling with fear. 

"Admirable, Miss Granger," Malfoy's voice murmured softly from behind her. She whipped around to face him, opening her mouth to scream, but one of his fingertips came up, touching her lips. "I would not recommend that course of action," he said quietly. "After all, we wouldn't want your dear, helpless muggle parents to be drawn into this situation, would we?"

Hermione's already huge eyes widened.

Surely he wouldn't...

"After all, it would take some explaining, should they be found dead, murdered by your own wand and you with no memory of killing them..."

Tears of anger, fear and hatred glittered in her flashing brown eyes. "You...you filthy... loathsome... vile..." her voice was shaking with the vehemence of every word she spat at him.

"Yes, well, as interesting as these charming pet names are, Miss Granger, I do have a reason for being here," he said, his expression diamond-hard. His right arm crossed in front of her, his knuckles brushing down her right cheek. She shuddered. "As I did mention before."

"And what reason might that be?" She was shivering violently, Malfoy standing over her, less than two feet away from her body. He was taller than her, at least by a head and shoulders, and broad.

"Now, that would be telling, Miss Granger," he said, smiling without humour. "I do hate to ruin the surprise." His eyes drifted over the dressing gown she was wearing and with a gesture from his wand, it dropped - in seamless blocks - to the floor, leaving the girl standing, half-naked.

Cringing back against the door that separated her room from her parents, Hermione couldn't stop the tears that had been building. They streamed silently down her face, as she shrank down, trying to make herself as small as possible.

"I would suggest you do as you are told, Miss Granger," he said, his voice as neutral as it had been moments earlier. He gave her a small, blood-freezing smile. "Or I will make it all the more...uncomfortable for you."

"Please..." She stared up at him desperately, suddenly understanding and hoping uselessly that she was mistaken. Tears were burning in her eyes and spilling down her pale face. "Please, don't do this..."

"Miss Granger, you must realise that such words are redundant," he replied, bending and grabbing her upper arm with one hand, hauling her to her feet. She could barely keep herself upright, her legs shaking, as he directed her over towards the bed, which was littered with her previously orderly clothes. 

Forced down onto the bed, face-down, she pressed her eyes shut in humiliation and despair as Malfoy pinned her down by the back of her neck. The burning, sick feeling she had the moment he had appeared in her room had completely engulfed her and she was shaking from head to toe. 

Where their wands had gone, she had no idea, nor did she truly care at that moment.

"Good girl," Malfoy murmured, still holding onto her thick hair. "Now," Her face was pushed against the pile of fresh laundry, tears burning their way down her cheeks, which felt ice-cold. "Back to what I was saying."

Hermione gasped aloud as she felt her knickers get pulled away, then the touch of cool, dry, bare skin as his gloveless hand ran the length of her back in what was unmistakably a caress.

A shudder of disgust rocketed through her shivering body and she buried her face in the pile of shirts beneath her, her hands winding into the blankets that were strewn over the bed.

She physically jumped when she felt a sensual brush of lips over her shoulder, soft strands of long, white-blonde hair trailing across her back. Biting down on the shirts beneath her, another sob rose in her throat.

His hands moved on her, sensual and terrifying in the same moment. 

They touched parts of her body she had never dared to explore, sliding between her body and the mattress to caress her small breasts and intimate areas in a way that made her gasp aloud in pain and shame, tears soaking rapidly through the shirts beneath her.

What made it worse was that he knew _how_ to touch her, _where_ to touch her, to get the reaction she didn't want to give.

It...it shouldn't have felt good.

It shouldn't have.

She didn't want it to feel as good as he was making it feel. She wanted to hate him and spit on him and not feel pleasure from the way his hands were touching her and he knew it too.

He knew she hated him and yet...yet, she was responding to him...

"Do you imagine that Weasley would appreciate and affect your body, as I do, Granger?" the smooth insidious voice continued to whisper as she tried to pull away from his invasive, probing fingers.

Weasley.

Ron.

A sharp gasp escaped her.

Ron would hate her.

But her parents...

A shaking half-sob, half-exhalation escaped her, as she let her body go limp beneath him. Let him do what he liked, as long as he parents were safe. Let him break her, shame her, anything, as long as her parents were safe.

Biting down on the fabric of the shirt beneath her to muffle her sobs, she tried not to respond. She tried to force her body not to react, trying to focus her thoughts on safe, loving, gentle, wonderful, caring Ron who would batter Lucius Malfoy's slimy-bastard face in if he knew what he was doing.

She almost laughed bitterly, part of her wishing that Ron would run in and save her, another part begging anyone who was listening that he would never ever find out about what Malfoy was doing.

Holding desperately onto the image of Ron beating the stuffing out of the man who was touching her with such gentle cruelty, she managed to level her breathing, her teeth grinding together, tears still rolling silently down her face.

A knock at the door made her jolt in fright, one of Malfoy's hands thrusting into her hair and jerking her face up. She gasped in pain as her hair was wrenched from her scalp. "Say what you have to, Granger," he growled the caution in her ear. "Their blood will be on your hands..."

"Hermione?"

It was her mother's voice.

"Hermione, we're going down to get something to eat," her mother called. "Do you want to come with us?"

Malfoy twisted his hand tighter into her hair, making her whimper. She could hear as well as feel the clumps tearing away at the root. "N-no thank you, m-mummy," she managed to call, her voice shaking so hard she was barely coherent. "I-I-I want to finish p-packing first."

"All right, dear. We'll be back in a little while."

A sob escaped the young witch as she heard the receding footsteps, then the quiet click of the door of her parents' room close, leaving her alone and completely at Lucius Malfoy's mercy. 

The only sound she could make out was a furious scratching sound on the other side of the door.

She was alone.

Completely alone.

Shaking her head wildly, she started to fight against him in earnest. Her parents were gone from their room. They wouldn't be harmed if she started to scream for help now. She had to get away!

A chuckle sounded above her and suddenly, the teasing caresses were gone. One hand slammed down hard between her shoulder blades, pinning her bruisingly down on the bed, a knee pushing her thighs apart.

"NO!" 

Thrashing desperately, she lashed out with her feet, struggling under his hands, only to feel a expensively-garbed chest press against her back, lips close to her ears. "Fight all you like, Granger," he hissed. "It's this way or Imperio."

"Let me go!" she cried out.

"I don't think so, Granger," came the chilling reply.

Releasing a wild, ringing scream, she hoped futilely that someone would hear her, wonder what was happening, maybe come to her aid, before her face was forced back into the material beneath her.

"Surely you didn't think I would forget a sound-proofing spell, Miss Granger," he tutted in her ear. 

"No..." she moaned against the mattress, squirming.

"Scream all you like," he added in a murmur. "I do like a vocal partner." 

Panting wildly, she tried to lift her face again, to jerk away, but then...

PAIN.

Pain so hard, burning and intense that she couldn't even find the breath to scream, crashed in on her from behind, her eyes filling and overflowing with fresh tears, her hands jerking taut in the blankets under her body.

Every single part of her body seemed to have gone utterly rigid, the blood rushing deafeningly in her ears, her vision blurring close to blackness.

Pressing her eyes shut and her lips together, she buried her face in the shirts beneath her, gritting her teeth, ignoring the hot waves streaming down her cheeks, her hands still clenched into the blankets under her as Malfoy abused her.

She wouldn't cry out.

She wouldn't scream.

She wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

She wouldn't...she wouldn't...she wouldn't...

It echoed like a mantra in her head.

I won't...I won't...I won't...

When he finally released her, leaving her slumped on the bed like a ragdoll, she heard him smoothing out his clothes, but she didn't move, her whole body throbbing agonisingly. His hand, gloved once more, ran down her back again.

"Remind me to thank Weasley for not breaking you in, Granger," he said with a cold chuckle. "I always find such pleasure in being the one to tame the shrew."

Hermione shuddered, her stomach wrenching violently, but she forced down the bile that rose in her throat, keeping her face buried in the bed. All she wanted was for him to go away, to leave her alone, to let her cry without him seeing.

A hand twisted into her hair and her face was forcibly jerked up, Malfoy standing by the side of the bed, gazing down at her. Blinking back bitter tears, she stared at him defiantly, blood trickling from the lip she had bitten through to prevent herself from crying out.

Even just looking at his smug, smirking face made her want to be violently sick.

"I'll be sure to come by and see you soon, Granger," he murmured. "You and your charming parents and, of course, Weasley," He smiled at her, making her shudder. "I do think he'll enjoy this little story when you tell him."

Drawing ragged, shaking breaths through her nose, Hermione's bloody lips pressed together. She didn't trust herself to speak or open her mouth without either vomiting or bursting into tears again.

"And I'm certain that he would want to know about that rather sensitive spot you have just..." A hand casually brushed over a certain spot in the middle of her back, making her recoil with a gasp. "There." 

The smirk on his lips spoke measures.

He knew more about her body than she did and definitely a lot more than Ron did.

Oh God...

Ron...

What was she going to tell him?

That she had been violated by Malfoy?

And that the man had practically seduced her body?

That, if Malfoy had maintained his sensual assault to the end, she might have been a willing participant?

Did that make her a slut? 

Would Ron think she was a slut?

What if he didn't want to be near her, if he thought she was used goods?

What if he hated her...?

The tears she had forced down returned full force, stinging painfully in the corners of her eyes and spilling over, down her face. Lowering her head, she buried her face in her arms and started to sob.

Above her, she heard Malfoy laugh again, cold and hard.

There was a pop and she knew she was alone again.

Curling onto her side, tears pouring down her face, she pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them, blood and other fluids sticky on the insides of her thighs, pain radiating through her body.

***

"Oh, you're all packed, Hermione! Can I let Crookshanks back in? It looks like he's been scratching at the door on this side."

Sitting in the middle of her re-made bed, Hermione looked up at her mother, her red-rimmed eyes shadowed by her freshly scrubbed hair hanging in curtains around her pale face, blotches on her cheeks, and smiled faintly. 

"Yes, mummy," she replied, returning her eyes to her latest transfiguration book.

She had been looking at the pages of the book for the last hour, since she piled her blood stained and fluid-spattered clothes into her trunk uncaring of how organised they were, but she hadn't taken in a single word that she had read.

Crookshanks pushed passed her mother's feet and clambered up onto the bed, where she was sitting. Forcing the book out of her hands with his head, he settled straight into her lap and rose on his hind paws to nuzzle her face.

"Did you have a bath, dear?"

Hermione nodded, stroking between Crookshanks' ears. "I was a mess because of the rain and...and everything," she replied, not raising her eyes from her cat. "I needed to clean myself up for when Harry and Ron arrive."

"Do you want me to get you something to eat?"

"No...no, thank you. I'm not hungry. Did...did you have a nice meal?"

"Oh, yes," Mrs Granger replied, smiling. "We ended up sitting with a couple of your teachers downstairs. They were charming."

"They always are," Hermione said, rubbing her nose against Crookshanks', his gold eyes staring at her in a way that said he knew exactly what had been happening, when he had been locked out of her room. "Mummy, I think I might get an early night. I'm rather tired..."

"All right, Hermione. Do you want me to take Crookshanks?"

"No...No, I want to keep him here." 

She vaguely registered her mother closing over the door with a chuckle and an amused "Good night, dear."

She didn't respond though.

"Oh, Crookshanks," she whispered, gathering her beloved marmalade cat to her chest, tears starting afresh. "You know what happened, don't you? You know what that thing... you know what he did, don't you?"

Crookshanks rose in her lap and continued to nuzzle her face comfortingly, as she hugged him and wept.


	2. Chapter Two

"Knock knock!"

Sitting on a seat beside the window of her room, late August sun filtering through the open pane, Hermione jumped and looked nervously around from the book she was pretending to read, where it was resting in her lap. 

She was trying to forget the incident of the night before, as if it never happened, as if she had not been raped by one of the Dark Lord's aides, as if everything was coming up roses and she was completely at ease with life, the world and everything.

Ron would never know. He wouldn't get himself hurt - or killed - trying to get back at the one who had harmed her. She could pretend that everything was all right for his sake and for Harry's.

After all, Malfoy probably intended to have them come after him. It was probably all to get to Harry, which was why he had used her. She was one of Harry's closest friends, so she was a logical target: Getting to her so Harry would go after Malfoy to get his revenge.

And probably get killed in the process.

No.

They didn't need to know.

Anyway, she was fine.

Everything was grand, she told herself, even though every breath she took caught in her raw throat and reminded her of the tearing sobs she had felt the previous night, every shift she made caused her clothing to rub against bruised skin, every time she heard footfalls, she flinched as if it might be...him.

"Who-who is it?"

"Only your drop-dead gorgeous boyfriend and his ugly sidekick," Ron answered cheerfully, as he opened the door and stepped into the room, grinning broadly, Harry close beside him, also smiling.

Smiling faintly in response, Hermione laid her book down, lowering her feet from the chair. "Ron, Harry...nice to see you."

Ron's face fell. "That's it? Nice to see you?"

Coming to her feet, crossing her arms over her stomach, her hands gripping above her hips, she tried to force another equally unsteady smile. "I-I haven't been feeling too well," she lied.

"You are looking a bit off-colour," Harry agreed, giving her a lop-sided smile. "Is it something contagious or can we hug?"

"I-I suppose we could hug," she said, although she wanted to curled back on her chair and stay there, unmoving for as long as possible. 

However, she had answered the way that she always answered, although with a little more hesitation than usual, and in a heartbeat, Harry had crossed the floor and wrapped his arms around her, swinging her off her feet.

It had been their practiced greeting for the last two years. Something silly in a world already gone mad.

Not even squealing as she normally did, she waited until he had placed her back on the floor. He drew back from her, a concerned look in his green eyes, as he gazed down at her, hands on her shoulders.

He had grown again. In the last two years, he seemed to simply be stretching upwards, but now... 

Now, he had finally gained the width to balance with his height. His hair was as wild and as unruly as ever, curls of gleaming black licking around his forehead and the legs of his glasses.

And, as always, he seemed to know when something was wrong.

"You...you're really not feeling well, are you, Hermione?" he said softly. She shook her head, looking down at the floor. He hugged her a little more gently, drawing her against his chest and holding her there briefly.

It was almost the thing that broke her.

Had he held her a moment longer, she knew she would have crumbled in tears.

It was the thing she dearly loved about Harry, yet - on this day - hated. His ability to make her feel every emotion so much more than she would normally, with a word, or a gesture, something as simple as a hug.

"I missed you," he whispered, letting her go. 

"You too," she answered, her smile the same weak, watery one she had given him moments earlier. Reluctantly, she turned from him to Ron, her heart lurching in her chest at the sight of him. "Ron."

He was the same as always, with red hair flopping over his brown eyes, his broad, sunny grin lighting up his freckled face, which seemed to have gained a lot more freckles since it had last time she had seen him.

Taller than Harry by half a head, he towered over her. She had stopped growing in fourth year, yet they had both stretched and stretched, leaving her dwarfed. Not that she minded a jot, especially when she had them to stick up for her.

"Hermione," he said. The way he said her name, was so different from Harry, almost as if he were in awe of it. He moved forward quickly and gathered her in his arms, her jolt of panic making him draw back with worry on his face. "You all right?"

"Me?" She cleared her throat, trying to make less of a squeak and more of an actual vocalisation. "Y-yes. Just a little peaky."

Dipping his head to claim a kiss, he was clearly puzzled when she turned away, offering him one white cheek. Pecking her, he drew back, glancing at Harry, then back at her. "Infectious?"

"Mmm," she mumbled non-commitedly.

"Oh well," He gave her an amiable smile. "I can wait."

"Did you get all your books for this term?" Harry inquired, after several minutes of uncomfortable silence. Hermione's eyes flicked to the one she had placed on the bed, then she nodded. "Read it already?"

"Of course," she replied, wishing she could bite her tongue in half for lying. 

"But you're still going to come with us to get ours, aren't you?"

Hermione blanched. She had managed to avoid leaving the room since the night before and didn't really want to face anyone else, apart from her parents and her two best friends.

However, she knew that if she was going to convince them that she was all right and pretend that nothing had happened, she wouldn't be able to cower in the corner of a room in the Leaky Cauldron for the rest of her life.

"I-I suppose I could," she said. "But not for too long."

Ron nodded, studying her with concerned eyes. "You really don't look too good, Hermione."

"Thank you for the compliment," she mumbled.

"And you haven't showed us your Head Girl badge yet," he said, lifting her chin with his hand. She tried to meet his eyes, but had to look away, her cheeks burning scarlet. "You must be ill."

"Ron, don't tease her," Harry said, shaking his head. "She's not a female version of Percy, y'know."

"Can you imagine if she was?" Ron gave her a tentative look. He looked like he was hoping to make her smile, as if it were the most important thing in the world. "Now, that would be frightening."

"I can think of worse things than that," Hermione rested her head against his shoulder, his arm loosely around her growing more comfortable as she let him hold her close to his right side.

"Like...?"

"Snape in a pink cocktail dress?" Harry suggested.

Giving him a grateful smile, Hermione actually laughed softly. "Now that is scary."

"I'll say," Ron shuddered. "Pink is definitely not his colour..."

A muffled giggle from Hermione made her boyfriend beam down at her as if she had just handed him a cheque for a million galleons. "You're crazy," she said, burrowing into his arms and clinging to him.

"And that's why you love me."

It felt like she had been punctured, all the happiness leaking out of her with that one small statement. Yes, it was true, beyond true, but how could she admit that when she was lying about the night before?

"Um...Hermione, this is the point where you're meant to go 'Yes, Ron, you are my Knight in shining armour and I love you more than all the books in all the libraries in all the world!'"

"I think that might be pushing it a bit," Harry noted dryly.

Ron grinned. "At least she loves me enough, then," he said. "Right, Hermione?"

Nodding against his shoulder, she couldn't find the nerve to reply.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As always, with the impending start of term, many of the less-organised wizarding families were rushing around in Diagon Alley with their children of various ages at the last minute, people bustling this way and that, the swell of voices a constant drone between the walls of shops.

Avoiding a harassed-looking mother with two boys who looked like they were preparing for their first year, the trio had just come exited the Quidditch Supplies shop. They had gone so both of the boys could have a look at the latest version of the Nimbus range: the Nimbus Point Four.

Harry was still enthusiastically commenting on the smooth flow of the broom and the speeds it would no doubt be able to reach, when all three of them were rudely and abruptly interrupted.

"And what," Hermione froze at the voice that murmured directly behind her and her friends. She could feel the prickle of her blood rushing from her face, her vision blurring as her hands starting to shake. "Do we have here?"

With Ron and Harry, she had already visited Flourish and Blotts to pick up the new school books for both boys, as well as visiting the Quidditch shop and stopping for an ice cream at Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlour, although Hermione had barely picked at the massive Sundae that Harry had bought for her.

They were just on their way to buy their fresh set of supplies for potions, when the cold, drawling and horrifically familiar voice had spoken quietly from a short distance behind them.

Harry and Ron had both whipped round on the first syllable, but she turned more slowly, swallowing down a bitter wave of bile at the sight of the two men standing a few paces away from them.

"Mr. Malfoy," Harry said coolly, his arms folded across his chest.

Lucius Malfoy inclined his head slightly, a suggestion of a smirk lifting his lips. As always, he was clad in expensive, ermine-lined robes, his left hand resting on the head of his cane. "Mr. Potter," he said softly. His grey eyes moved to Ron, on Hermione's right. "And Mr. Weasley. I find myself unsurprised."

Hermione's trembling hands were rhythmically clenching and unclenching by her sides. She could feel every throb of her heart in her ears and it was taking all her self-control not to turn and run.

Silently praying that he would ignore her, she tried to steady her breathing. It felt like her heart was shivering behind her sternum, her eyes fixed on a point on the cobbled street beneath her feet.

"And Miss Granger, I believe."

Swallowing hard past the fist-size lump of granite in her throat, she raised her brown eyes to find mocking grey ones gazing down at her, the smirk on Malfoy Senior's lips growing more pronounced.

Draco was standing at his father's left shoulder, also smirking, but his smirk was directed at Harry and Ron, which - Hermione hoped - meant that he didn't know what had come to pass between his father and her.

"M-Malfoy," she acknowledged, wishing and praying that she sounded half as casual as Harry had.

She wanted to run.

Run away far and fast.

But her legs...her legs seemed to have turned to stone. 

She couldn't move.

To her horror, he extended a black-gloved hand. "I do not believe that I have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance formally, Miss Granger," he said casually, his eyes locking with hers, challenging her.

Behind him, a look of astonishment crossed Draco Malfoy's pale face. "Father," he hissed under his breath, but still loud enough for the trio to hear, his eyes maliciously flicking to Hermione's face. "She's a mudblood!"

"Malfoy," Ron snarled, Hermione's hand on his arm the only thing that stopped him from lunging at the two men.

"I am aware of Miss Granger's heritage, Draco," Lucius Malfoy's voice betrayed no emotion, but the cold look he shot his son was enough to make Draco fall silent. "So, Miss Granger..."

Hermione stared at the gloved hand that was still extended, then fearfully up at the face of the man who had assaulted her so savagely only the day before, his lips curved in a disdainful sneer.

Somehow, he knew...

He knew that she wouldn't have told Harry or Ron.

He knew, probably from past experiences, that she would be trying to act as if nothing had happened and behave in the way she normally did, which meant being civilised to everyone. 

Even him.

So much for the theory that he wanted Harry and Ron to go after him.

Maybe he was just a sadistic bastard.

That would work too.

Drawing a tremulous breath, she raised her hand and briefly gripped his, before jerking it back. She was practically panting, her shaking hand bunching against her side as she looked back down at the ground.

"I had heard that you were much more talkative, Miss Granger," he said, sounding almost disappointed. His tone of voice and the expression in his eyes were two very different things, though. "Almost...intelligent, if I am to believe my son."

"If I'm to make a guess," Harry said coldly. "Your son only mentioned it, because he was jealous. After all, the only class he ever does at all well in was Potions and we all know why that is."

Livid pink spots appeared on the younger Malfoy's face. "Potter..."

"Draco," Lucius Malfoy raised a hand casually. The head of his cane touched against the centre of his son's chest, stopping Draco in his tracks. "I would prefer if you kept this petty rivalry under control for now."

Glaring darkly at Harry, Draco muttered, "Yes, father."

"Ron, can we go?" Hermione whispered shakily. She felt dizzy and sick and she wanted to get back to the safety of the room she was sharing with both of the boys. He was glaring at Draco Malfoy darkly. "Ron..."

"Right," he replied, his eyes narrowed. "C'mon..."

"Leaving so soon?" Malfoy Senior remarked. "Well, that is hardly polite. After all, we have only just met."

"We're going," Hermione said. Her voice was shaking and thin as she turned around, walking quickly away down Diagon Alley, not even looking back to check that Ron and Harry were following her.

Pounding footsteps behind her suggested that they were.

A hand on her shoulder made her spin around, her hands raised in defence. Ron was standing there, Harry close behind him. "You all right, Hermione?" he asked, his brown eyes on her face.

"I..." She swallowed hard, then nodded, forcing a smile. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine," she replied. "I...its just that Malfoy..."

"Is a slimy git who deserves to be punched in the gob?"

Hermione nodded. "I suppose I could agree with that," she answered, stiffening a little when Ron wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Forcing herself to relax, she tried to smile up at him, but lowered her face. "Can...could we go back to the Leaky Cauldron? I'm not feeling too well."

"What is it, Hermione?" Harry asked, moving to flank her other side. This was always the way she had liked them best: the two boys on either side of her. It always made her feel safe, especially with them being so much taller than her.

"Just a bit nauseous," she replied uncomfortably, glancing up at him.

She felt Ron's hand rubbing her back comfortingly and gritted her teeth together to muffle a whimper of pain, when it grazed over the bruise that had flowered between her shoulder blades.

Part of her wanted to tell them both just why she was acting the way she was. They were her friends, after all. They were the people she loved and who loved her best. If anyone deserved to know, it was them.

And that was the point when the second little voice at the back of her mind started to whisper nervously: _yes, but if you tell them about the humiliation, you'll have to tell them about him almost seducing you as well. You'll have to tell them that he did make you feel good. You'll have to tell Ron that someone took the one special thing you could give him._

Forcing down a soft whimper in her throat, she pulled away from Ron's side and started walking a little faster, hoping that neither of them would see the tears that had welled up in her eyes.

"Hermione," Ron hurried after her, touching her shoulder. "Hermione, what is it?"

He tried to make her stop walking, to turn and face him, but she shrugged his hand off and shook her head. "N-nothing," she replied in a voice that was close to breaking point. "I-I...he...the mudblood thing..."

She knew he wouldn't believe her.

After five years of the taunt from Malfoy Junior, it had lost its impact on her.

However, she mused, after the night before, she certainly had good reason to hate it more than ever.

"Hermione."

"Ron..." Reluctantly, she turned around to look up at him, her eyes burning with the effort of concealing her tears. "I-I'm not feeling well and-and-and he just made it a lot worse, so please can we just forget it?"

The worried expression on Ron's face spoke measures. "All right," he agreed quietly. "Let's get you back to your room."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A fire was crackling in the grate.

Yet another downpour of rain had come in with the setting of the sun and Hermione had transferred all her things to the room she would be sharing with Ron and Harry for their last night before they went back to Hogwarts.

Her parents had left that afternoon, although Mrs Weasley had stayed, along with Ginny, who seemed to be going through a bit of a rough patch. Most people still blamed the incidents of the Chamber of Secrets.

"Oh and you shoulda seen the state of Charlie's hair!" Ron had been regaling both of them with tales about the Weasley family holiday to visit Charlie in Romania, where he was still working with dragons.

"Burnt?" Harry inquired?

"Like Ginny's cooking," Ron affirmed with a broad grin.

They were having their dinner in their room, sitting in front of the fireplace, on the rug, chatting about what they had got up to over the summer months. Or at least Ron and Harry were.

Hermione's mind was elsewhere, going over the very reason that they were - in fact - eating in their room, instead of downstairs.

Malfoy.

Again.

Only an hour before, they had been downstairs, waiting for a table to sit at. Harry was talking to Tom at the bar, while Ron had run off to the toilet, various witches and wizards eating and talking around the pub.

Hermione had been standing just around the edge of the bar from Harry, watching the proceedings half-heartedly, out of the way. She didn't want to be seen and she was certain no one would notice her in the shadows.

Unfortunately, someone had noticed and she hadn't even realised they were there, until one arm slid around her waist, a hand clamping over her mouth before she could draw breath to scream.

"All alone again, Miss Granger," a familiar voice had breathed against her neck.

Terror had flooded her and she had gone rigid, making the man looming over her chuckle. That sound, which could be so cheering in some people, made her eyes burn and her body shiver from head to toe.

Why hadn't she been able to struggle? What was wrong with her that any time he was near her, she seemed to have been caught in a full body bind? Whatever it was, it had left her pinned back against Lucius Malfoy's chest for nearly a full minute.

His arm that was looped around her waist had slid up her torso and she had pressed her eyes shut in humiliation when his hand closed over her breast, through the thick Weasley jumper she was wearing.

"Tamed so easily," Malfoy's lips had been cool against her ear. "I must say that is rather disappointing, Miss Granger."

She wished she could have struggled and fought him, but no...

She had tried to break free from him, tried to raise her hands to jerk his from her mouth so she could scream, but her body just wouldn't obey her mental commands as his fingers bruisingly squeezed her breast, making her whimper in pain.

"I do so hope you'll have a good term, Miss Granger," he spoke softly. "Head girl… such a high," A chuckle made her hair ripple against her neck and she shuddered as he finished suggestively. "Position."

She wanted to kick, scream, cry…

ANYTHING!

It had only been when Ron had re-entered the bar that his grip had loosened. "I'll see you soon, Miss Granger," he had breathed against her neck, before jerking around and smashing a savage kiss down on her lips.

No. 

It wasn't a kiss.

It was a sign of his ownership, a brief violation that served as a casual reminder and threat that he had harmed her before and could easily do it again, even with her boyfriend and best friend less than five feet away.

Stumbling out, she had practically fallen into Harry's arms, as Ron hurried over, whispering that she felt ill and wanted to get back to the room, before she fell over or was sick everywhere.

They had indulged her, as they always did.

In fact, Ron had carried her up the stairs, which normally would have made her laugh, but not today...

Now, they were comfortably in front of the fire, both of the boys talking and barely aware that Hermione was doing nothing but stare into the heart of the fire, watching the wood splinter and curl up.

Ron was lying on his right side, stretched out across the floor, while Harry was sitting back against the front of one of the armchairs. She was positioned at the third point of the triangle, opposite the fire.

Her jean-covered knees were hugged up against her chest, her chin resting on top of them, as she contemplated the flames. The flickering light seemed to be burning up her thoughts, leaving her mind peacefully empty for once.

Hermione listened to the anecdotes passing back and forth between them, but wasn't really feeling very talkative. She felt stiff and horribly tired, having had barely any sleep the previous night. 

Her mouth didn't seem to want to respond when she tried to smile at Ron and Harry's jokes and she just wanted to curl up and sleep, safe in the knowledge that they were there and that she was cared for.

"What about you, Hermione?" A bowl of crisps was held up in front of her and she picked one up to nibble on it. Ron gave her a hopeful smile. "Did you have a good summer? Was Athens as impressive as you expected?"

"It was all right," she replied, nibbling on the edge of the crisp.

"And...?"

"And what?"

Ron shrugged helplessly. "I dunno," he said, his expression concerned. "What was the weather like? Did you see historical stuff? Did you get any nice pictures? Books! Local books! Did you get any of them?" 

"Got a book. Took some pictures. It was all alright."

Her boyfriend sat up, shuffling a little closer to her. "Hermione, what's wrong?" he asked seriously. He lifted her chin, making her look at him and she felt her eyes stinging again.

"I'm just tired, Ron."

"No...no, there's something upsetting you," His eyes searched her face. "You know you can tell me anything, don't you?"

"Of course I know..."

"So what's wrong?"

Hermione jerked her chin out of his hand and looked into the fire. She didn't want to look him in the face in case she blurted it out. She didn't want him to know. He didn't need to know. 

Blinking hard, she gritted out through clenched teeth, "Is it so hard to believe that I'm just tired, Ron? I was travelling all morning yesterday and I'm not feeling well and you...you..." her voice broke. "You aren't helping..." 

Tears broke from her eyes and she heard her boyfriend's agitated sound of apology.

"Hermione! I didn't mean..." He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her and she tried not to shudder at the contact. "I'm sorry, love," he said sincerely, kissing her temple through her bushy hair. "I was just worried."

"Don't worry," she lied dully. "I'm fine."


	3. Chapter Three

"Ready to go, love?"

Starting, Hermione looked up, blinking. "Wh-what was that?"

She was sitting on the chair in front of the empty fireplace in the triple room which she had shared with Ron and Harry for their last night in London, staring blindly down at the blackened bricks.

Hardly even aware of the two boys moving the trunks around, she didn't notice Ron had crept up behind her until he spoke, practically leaning over the back of the chair to look down at her.

Ron bent and dropped a kiss on her forehead. "You really need to get some rest, as soon as we're on the train, Hermione," he said sternly. "You're still out of it and as soon as we get to Hogwarts..."

"I know, I know," she sighed, managing a rather impressive fake smile, coming to her feet and crossing her arms in front of her body, her hands on her opposite hips. "I go and see Madam Pomfrey."

Her boyfriend smiled broadly at her then heaved her trunk off the bed with Harry's help, both of them lugging it to the door. Hermione caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and the very false smile plastered on her face.

If she had been able to, she would have slapped herself across the face for lying to her two best friends.

Guilt was already twisting in her gut, her throat constricting as waves of nausea washed over her. She didn't want to have to lie to them, but this...she couldn't face them knowing any of this.

"You can do this, Granger," she whispered to herself, trying to ignore the quaver in her voice, picking up her coat and pulling it on. Scooping up Crookshanks from the bed, she kissed between his ears. "Ready to go back to school, Crooks?"

Shifting until he was quite comfortable, the cat nudged his nose under her chin, purring loudly as she hugged him.

With one last look around to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything, Hermione made her way towards the door. Drawing a breath, she exhaled and hurried out of the room after Ron and Harry, her enormous marmalade cat cradled against her chest.

However, she was less than halfway down the hall when a long, black cane swept up in front of her from an open doorway, stopping her dead in her tracks. Hermione went rigid, eyes widening as Lucius Malfoy lazily emerged from the shadows.

"Ready for school, are we?" he inquired with a chilling smile down at her. "I must say your uniform is rather...becoming."

"L-leave me alone," she whispered unsteadily, back-stepping, the chill she received from his voice raising a rash of goosebumps across her skin. She felt dizzy and sick all over again, but still, her legs refused to let her run.

It was if there was something about him that hit a pause control in her body and she couldn't do anything until he chose to release it.

It was terrifying.

And he knew it.

Smiling slightly, one eyebrow lifted. "I can't imagine why you would be so uncivil, Miss Granger," he remarked, with mock grief, shaking his head as he placed the foot of his cane back on the floor. "After all," He took a step towards her and a whimper escaped her throat. "I have been nothing but...polite to you."

"Get away," she tried to force the words out in a shout. Strange, she noticed faintly, how much her shout sounded like the softest whimper in the world. "Get away from me... leave me alone..."

Crookshanks was growling in her arms, his hackles raised. His bottle-brush tail was thumping against her side in an angry rhythm.

The wizard gave the gingery feline a cursory look. "An interesting choice of pet, Granger," he remarked, almost as if interested. Hermione shifted Crookshanks, barely even daring to breathe. "What? You aren't going to inform me of his name? Even after all our...interludes?"

A fierce hiss from Crookshanks made him arch a brow. 

"What a charming beast," he murmured, although his quiet, cold tone suggested that he would like nothing more to skin her pet.

Hermione shrank back, still holding her cat tightly. "Leave him alone," she tried, desperately tried, to sound defiant and strong. Crookshanks' tail was lashing against her legs and she knew he was ready to leap from her arms.

"You think I would harm the little thing?" Malfoy gave her a patronising look out of his deadly grey eyes. "I wouldn't waste my time on such wild beasts. I much prefer my pets to be... housebroken shall we say."

Hermione flinched at his words, closing her eyes. 

Just when she thought she could cope...

He made it sound so degrading with his careful choice of words, made her feel so cheap and worthless, as if she were nothing more than a captive wild creature, to be used and abused and tossed on the scrap heap.

She heard the squeak of the floorboard, which told her he was moving, and took another frightened back-step, not wanting to open her eyes. She didn't want to think of him being anywhere near her again, her breath catching in her throat, her grip on Crookshanks slipping.

Crookshanks, however, was fearless.

She felt him use her stomach as a springboard for his hind paws, launching himself out of her arms with the force of a catapult, his caterwaul punctuated by a savage curse from Malfoy.

Opening her eyes in time to see Malfoy stagger back against the wall of the hallway, she gasped at the sight of blood trickling from scratches across his face. Lunging forward, she scooped up Crookshanks and ran towards the stairs, leaving the blond wizard glaring after her.

"Miss Granger," his voice halted her at the top of the staircase. There was something in his voice, his manner, the ice-cold, deadly command that made it impossible to disobey. "Don't think your wretched little pet will save you next time."

Swallowing a sob of panic, Hermione rushed down the staircase, burying her face in Crookshanks coat as she emerged into the Leaky Cauldron, in time to see Harry and Ron come running back in from the cab.

"Thank you, Crooks," she whispered into the cat's fur, hugging him tightly.

"C'mon, Hermione!" Ron called over the bustling groups off witches and wizards trying to cram out of the doorway. He waved her forwards. "Get a move or we're going to miss the train!"

"Coming!" she called back, amazed at how normal she was sounding.

It was going to be all right, she told herself determinedly, pushing her way forward through the group, clutching Crookshanks tightly. She would get to Ron and Harry and soon, they would be back at Hogwarts. She would be safe there.

Her eyes flicked back to the staircase, a bitter, icy fist squeezing her stomach.

Or at least she hoped so. 

***

Lying on the seat of the Hogwarts Express, Hermione tried to keep her breathing even and her eyes lightly closed, hoping that her pretence of sleep would be enough to convince her boyfriend and best friend.

She was curled on her side on the seat that was travelling backwards beside Ron, Harry sitting on the forwards-facing seat, both of them talking quietly, so as not to disturb her, the steady rocking motion of the train oddly relaxing.

Hermione had shifted about restlessly for the first half an hour of the journey, leaning against the wall of the cabin for a while, then trying to lean back and use the back of the seat.

Ron had been the one to suggest that she actually get some rest, because she was looking very pale and had large rings under her eyes. He had patted his thigh in offer as a pillow and she had been unable to refuse. 

Settled on her right side, Ron seated by the window, she had curled down beside him, using his left thigh as a pillow. Her right arm was curled up to her chest, her right hand spread under her face, the heat of Ron's thigh through his jeans making her flush a little. 

The tartan fabric of the seats was rough, but soft enough to lie on without too much discomfort, her knees pulled up to her stomach and her left arm folded between her stomach and her legs.

One of his hands was stroking through her bushy hair as he talked to Harry, his fingers gentle, the tips barely skimming against the side of her neck. 

While, initially, the light contact had almost made her shiver with a combination of self-loathing and distinct unease, she had relaxed into his touch and now, it was as comfortable and reassuring as Crookshanks' warm body curled against her.

Unsurprisingly, she noticed, they were talking about her.

"She looks so peaceful."

Harry's voice agreed. "Wonder what's up."

"Flu?"

There was a pause. "I don't know, Ron," Hermione felt her shoulders tense, tried to make herself relax. She was asleep, she told herself, asleep and not listening in on the conversation. "She...did she seem...I don't know...nervous?"

"Actually, yeah," Ron replied. He shifted a little, his hand drawing her hair back and his knuckles gently stroking her cheek. "Malfoy being a git didn't help, either," he added, a note of bitterness in his voice. "If she hadn't held me back..."

"And we thought Draco was bad."

_Ha! _Hermione's mental voice screeched. _If only you knew._

Swallowing hard, Hermione tried not to shift uncomfortably at the mention of the names, although she could feel heat spreading up her pale face. Ron's gentle hand was coming dangerously close to revealing the bruises on the back of her neck.

"D'you think she'll be all right? I mean, she looked like she was going to jump out her skin in Diagon Alley," Ron continued and Hermione was sure she could feel his eyes on her face, intense.

Harry laughed, although it wasn't a happy sound. "She'll be back at Hogwarts and we'll only have to have Malfoy Junior to deal with. He's hardly even small change when you compare him to his dad," he replied. Hermione's mental voice was having a field day, passing judgement on all of this. Oh, how much it agreed that Draco Malfoy was nothing more than a piddling little minnow in a pond of sharks. "She'll probably feel better knowing old Dumble is about."

That was true at least, Hermione thought. After all, if You-Know-Who was afraid of Dumbledore, it went without saying that Lucius Malfoy wasn't exactly going to be eager to go one-on-one with the old wizard.

"I just wish she would tell us what's got her so worked up," Ron said quietly. His tone was one of such love and concern that Hermione felt tears pricking behind her eyelids. "I just want to be able to give her a hand. I feel so bloody useless seeing her in this state and not being able to help."

Shifting to hide her tears and to move herself nearer him, she made an incoherent little whimpering sound in her throat, hoping they would think she was dreaming and not listening in as they voiced their concerns.

Ron's hand immediately brushed down her cheek and came to rest on her shoulder, as she shifted her head on his thigh. However, she also took the chance to turn her body slightly, so she was almost on her back on the seat, blocking her bruised neck from sight.

His fingers stroked tangled hair away from her cheeks and she hoped and prayed that she had been able to keep her tears out of sight.

It wouldn't help her if he saw her crying again.

Yes, she was allowed to be emotional because she was a girl, but to be crying again, even if she maintained that she still wasn't feeling well...

They suspected enough already.

She didn't need them getting even more concerned.

"She'll be okay, Ron," Harry's voice had sunk to a murmur, as if worried about waking her. "It's Hermione. She's always all right."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, his voice equally low. 

His palm rested against her right cheek for a moment, warm as always and a little damp, but she didn't mind. His thumb brushed down her cheekbone lightly and she could smell the familiar, home-washed, cosy and very Weasley smell of him.

"She'll be fine," he muttered, his hand slipping down to rest on her shoulder, a secure but soft touch that would prevent her from falling off the rocking seat. His forearm rested lightly across her chest. 

Hermione wished she felt as secure in his belief as he did.

Exhaling a slow breath, she could feel the faint body heat of his arm through the thick Weasley-jumper he was wearing, warm and reassuring, not as oppressive as she had worried it might be.

This was...nice. 

Comfortable. Secure. Safe.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe.

***

"I'll ask her if I can get some sleeping potion and just head to bed straight away."

Brown eyes studied her with concern. "You sure you don't want me to come with you, Hermione?" Ron asked, catching her hands and squeezing her fingertips, which were chilly. "If you want..."

The Gryffindors trio were standing outside the main doors of the Great Hall, groups of various ages filing passed them to take their places and await the arrival of the fresh batch of first years.

Hermione hadn't been around so many people in days and the idea of everyone being there, everyone seeing...

Surely someone would notice...

A shiver scooted down her back and she crossed her arms over her waist again, rubbing at her hips with hands that suddenly felt ice-cold. Too many people and too many eyes for someone not to see. Better that she were absent.

"We could both come, if you need us," Harry added. He was looking at her strangely and Hermione wished she could act a little more normally. He suspected something was wrong, he always had a knack for that...

Shaking her head resolutely, she smiled wanly up at them. "You go to the feast. Both of you," she said. "Ron, your mum said to keep an eye on Ginny and I wouldn't want you to miss the school song."

"How generous of you," he muttered, pulling a face.

"Ah, Miss Granger," the voice from the marble staircase nearby made the trio turn, each of them smiling in greeting as Professor Dumbledore approached, his blue eyes twinkling at them. "Our Head Girl," he said with a smile, then looked at Ron and Harry, who were grinning proudly at her as she blushed. "And her esteemed cohorts."

"Its good to see you, Head Master," Hermione said, although she couldn't help feeling a flutter of queasiness. After all, Dumbledore had a gift for always seeming to know everything and she hoped it wasn't the case this time.

The twinkle in his eye suggested not.

"I do wonder, though," Her back stiffened. Did he know? What did he know? How could he know? Would he tell Harry and Ron? Blue eyes gazed at her with a strange expression and she forced a strained smile, struggling to look relaxed. "Why haven't you gone into the hall?"

"Hermione hasn't been feeling too well, Professor," Ron cut in, one hand on her shoulder and Hermione almost hugged him with relief. "She was just going to go up to the Infirmary to get checked by Madam Pomfrey."

"Ah," Dumbledore murmured, his clear blue eyes still on her over the rim of his half-moon glasses. There was something in the way he looked at people that seemed to almost cut to the very core of their heart and soul. She ducked her head, shifting her feet uncomfortably.

Even if she had tried, she knew she couldn't have lied to Dumbledore. 

"Is it all right if I miss the feast, Professor?" she asked timidly. "I-I really don't feel like eating..." Well, that was no real lie. Her stomach currently felt like it was being squeezed through a wringer.

Dumbledore's gentle smile seemed to wash over her like a light pouring into a shadowy room, all her fears and unease shrinking away to nothing, as he reached out and patted her hand. 

"You just see to it that you have your health, Miss Granger," he said comfortingly, his eyes warm. "I will see to it that your absence is explained. I shall have someone bring you something to your private room, a little later, lest you feel hungry." 

Oh yes.

She had forgotten.

Being Head Girl gained her the privilege of having her own private room, which was certainly a blessing considering the state that everything was in, in her trunk.

Hermione managed another smile, slightly stronger this time. "Thank you, sir," she mumbled, then looked apologetically at Ron and Harry. "You two should go in," she said. "You don't want to miss anything."

"You going to be all right, love?"

Nodding, Hermione reached up and tucked stray strands of hair behind her ear. "I-I think so," she answered, with confidence this time. "You just go to the feast and try to keep Ginny out of trouble."

Ron nodded, he and Harry hurrying into the Great Hall.

"Is there anything troubling you, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore's calm voice brought her attention back to him and she looked up at him, wondering if she should tell. How she should tell. What she could tell.

Then her mouth spoke, much to her surprise.

"No, Professor. Nothing."

He nodded seriously, although she had a horrible feeling that he knew she wasn't being entirely honest. "Off you go, then. Madam Pomfrey ought to be there. She does so dislike the start of term feasts."

***

Her new room was beautiful. 

Warm and inviting, a flickering fire in the large grate that stood on the wall to the left, her bed against the wall to the right, the broad desk beneath the main window with gold, reds and whites everywhere.

She wish she could have cared more about the soft, bouncy-looking sofa in front of the fire or the shelves on the wall near the mantle which were stacked with books or even with the stunning view from the smaller window ledge, which was edged with a cushion, providing a perfect window seat for her.

She didn't though.

Kneeling down on the floor, she undid her trunk with trembling fingers and opened it, staring in numbly at the contents.

She had been to Madam Pomfrey and...

A sting of pain and shame pricked her.

She had lied. Again.

She hadn't been able to admit to what had happened.

When Madam Pomfrey asked what she wanted, she had shown the bruises on her back and said she had fallen. The Matron had looked doubtful and asked if that was all that happened.

Yes, Hermione had insisted. She had fallen and got a few bumps and bruises. She needed something for them, because they were hurting a lot and would it be possible to get a sleeping potion as well.

Several healing remedies for general bruises and injuries had been given to her and then she had been dosed with something for bruises in those 'less noticeable' places, which made her start. 

Madam Pomfrey had given her a careful, sympathetic look, but had said nothing, leaving the Head Girl feeling strangely uneasy. Did that mean she knew what had happened? Or perhaps suspected it?

She wanted to ask for a memory charm as well to help her forget everything, but that would mean saying what had happened, and a contraceptive charm, but something told her Malfoy wasn't exactly one for making stupid mistakes. He would have made certain of that. He wouldn't want anything to connect him to her.

Although, she shuddered as she started to lift her bloody and stained clothing out of the trunk, he didn't seem to mind marking her, as if knowing that she would try to hide the evidence as soon as possible.

Piling the items in her trunk on either side of her knees into two separate piles: clean or soiled: she felt oddly detached when the crusts of the dried stains scratched against her trembling hands.

The dirty items would be sent down to the house elves.

They never judged the owners of the clothing and, for once, she was grateful that they - and not witches or wizards - were in charge of care of the household.

The best part was that they didn't necessarily know who the clothing belonged to, only which room it came from. 

Every bedroom and dormitory in the castle had an equivalent of a dumb waiter built into the wall. Dirty laundry was put in it and the house elves would receive it, to wash and launder it. The theory was that, since they weren't seeing the person giving them the clothes, it was not their 'Master', so they could not be given clothes - in the dismissing sense - by accident or otherwise.

Hermione had never been more grateful for their technique before this night.

The piles were still building up, when the door behind her opened and Hermione scrambled to her feet, wand in hand. Her heart was pounding furiously and she felt a rush of dizzy relief when she saw who was standing there. "Oh..."

"Hermione!" Lavender Brown squeaked in fright, almost dropping the plate of food she was carrying.

The tall, slender sandy-haired Gryffindor girl was one of the other girls in Hermione, Ron and Harry's year and, while they had never really become friends, they knew one another and had occasionally spoken.

"What's up with you, Hermione?" a second voice spoke from just behind Lavender, sounding just as surprised. It was Parvati Patil, no doubt. The slightly shorter, exotic-looking girl and Lavender were practically joined at the hip.

Hermione started, horrified to realise she was still pointing her wand at them, her hand shaking wildly around it. "I...I thought you were someone else," she said lamely as she lowered her hand, looking down uncomfortably.

"Someone else who deserved to have a wand pointed in their face just for opening a door without knocking?" Lavender inquired, her face white. "Blimey, Hermione, remind me not to get on the wrong side of you."

Running a trembling hand over her face, Hermione tried to smile faintly. "I-I-I just was a bit...a bit surprised," she said carefully, wondering wildly if she was going to react like that any time anyone approached her without warning. "Sorry."

There was an uncomfortable silence, as Hermione sat down slowly on the edge of her bed, a feeling of disbelief spreading through her, her wand slipping from her fingers to land silently on the mattress.

She felt sick and dizzy. 

She had almost attacked two other students...just because they had opened her door without warning.

"Professor Dumbledore thought you'd want something to eat, but he wanted to have a word with Harry and Ron," Parvati explained awkwardly, to break the silence. "We said we'd bring you something."

Lavender, though, was looking elsewhere in the room. "Hermione, what happened to your clothes, mate?"

Hermione's head snapped up, eyes wide in panic. "Nothing!"

Lavender's blue eyes looked at the messy piles on the floor, then cocked her head at Hermione, who was feeling increasingly sick. They had to leave. They had to. They couldn't stay and work it out.

"Herm, I've lived with you for five years. Even I can tell that something went wrong with your packing."

"I-I-I was running late," Hermione replied, a little too quickly, walking forward two steps, to block the larger pile of stained clothing from her two classmates. "We didn't have time to..."

"Oh, come off it, Hermione!" Parvati laughed, her eyes dancing. "This is you! You have everything packed and ready before most of us have unpacked from the end of last term! C'mon! Let's see the first mess that Hermione Granger has ever made!"

"It's nothing," Hermione whispered, shaking her head as both of the girls advanced, giggling their familiar giggles. Her head was spinning. Her hands were tingling and numb. "Please...please...don't..."

"Its just a bloody big mess, Hermione, no harm in letting us take a peek," Lavender said, depositing the plate she was carrying on the table beside the couch. "It'll be something to tell the grandkids one day, when you're a famous witch and we're just house-witches."

"No..." Hermione shook her head. "No...you don't have to see this..."

It was too late, though.

"Oh Merlin..." Lavender gasped. "Hermione, is that...?"

Her question trailed off the moment her eyes reached Hermione's face. Hermione knew why, as well. She had felt the colour sucked from her cheeks and the tears that had become so familiar in the past three days filling her eyes.

Parvati stared at her in shock and pity, a hand at her mouth. "You were...you..." Her tawny skin paled, a greyish hue sliding across her features. "Oh shit... Hermione...oh, shit... I'm sorry... "

Hermione managed to stumble the two steps to the edge of the bed, sinking down on the edge of the mattress, one arm wrapping around the bedpost. Resting her temple against the wood and pressing her eyes shut, she whispered. "I told you not to look."

"Hermione..."

"Don't..."

"We should get Professor Dumbledore," Parvati's voice was shaking.

"NO!" Brown eyes opened instantly and she pointed up at them. "You...you aren't telling anyone about this."

"But you..."

Tears splashed down Hermione's pale face, but she repeated in a low and dangerous voice. "You aren't telling anyone about this. Anyone," her voice was shaking so hard that she could barely make out a word she was saying. "No one needs to know...I-I'm all right...I don't want anyone to know..." Her head bowed again and a quiet sob escaped her. "I'm all right...I am..."

The mattress shifted and she felt a pair of arms wrapping around her. Sinking into the embrace, Hermione started to sob in earnest. "Who did this, Hermione?" Lavender whispered, her own voice laced with tears of anger. "Who was it?"

"I...I can't..." Burying her face in her hands, Hermione shook her head, tears burning down her hands and wrists, splashing onto her shirt.

Lavender nodded against the top of her head, her arms around the Head Girl. She was crying too. Hermione could feel her tears, could feel her hand stroking through Hermione's own bushy hair.

It was strange, Hermione thought. She almost felt relieved that someone else knew.

Two someones.

It...

Had it been Ron, or Harry, she would have felt humiliated and ashamed, but she barely knew these two girls. They wouldn't judge her or treat her like Ron and Harry would, with all their years of friendship.

Yes, she felt a little uncomfortable, but still...

They would be there, but without all the additional strings of long-time friendship.

"We should tell someone what happened, Herm," Parvati's voice mumbled, one hand resting on Hermione's knee. She was kneeling at Hermione's feet, her face tight with concern and pity. "You can't let him get away with it..."

"I-I don't want a fuss."

"Fuss my arse," Lavender growled, her grip on the Head Girl protective. Hermione was surprised that she felt strangely safe in the wispy girl's arms. "You don't deserve to be treated like that. Tell me who it is and I'll rip his bloody balls off and use them for Quidditch."

"Lav!"

"Tell me you wouldn't do the same, Parv," Lavender challenged quietly. "Bet it was some prejudiced pureblood bastard." 

Hermione shuddered at the thought of it. 

She knew Lavender was from an ancient pureblood family, one of the first to populate Britain, but was one of the few old families who - like the Weasleys - found muggles relatively harmless and amusing creatures.

Lavender, apparently, noticed the shiver. "That's who it was, wasn't it?" she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "Who was it, Herm? Avery? Knott? Goyle? One of those incestuous ingrates?"

"Don't..." Hermione whispered faintly. "Please...don't do anything...please...just forget it. It happened and I just want to forget about it now..."

"But..."

Tear-filled brown eyes looked from one angry face to the other. "Please," Hermione begged softly. "No one else needs to know...I don't want anyone else to know. I-I don't want them pitying me...staring at me..."

Parvati looked dubious. "I dunno, Hermione...I mean, McGonagall..."

"No one," Hermione repeated harshly, her voice choked, her cheek soaked with tears. "Promise me. Promise you won't tell anyone."

"If...if you're sure," Parvati said uncertainly. Hermione nodded once. "All right. I won't tell anyone." She drew an X across her chest. "Cross my heart and witches honour and all that."

"And you, Lavender," Hermione whispered.

Lavender's blue eyes clouded. "Someone really should be told Hermione, but if this is what you want...I won't tell anyone until you're ready, okay?" There was a silence, the sandy-haired witch's cheek resting on top of Hermione's head. "We'll look out for you, Herm. You need anything, we'll be here."

"You're stuck with us now," Parvati added, squeezing her knee again.

"Thank you," Hermione managed a weak smile, one hand coming out to squeeze Parvati's, her head resting against Lavender's shoulder. She drew a shaking breath and exhaled it. "I-I don't know why you care so much...especially since we...we barely know each other."

"Herm, we're Gryffs. We stick together through thick and thin," Parvati answered with a half-smile. "If you had spent more time with the rest of the house instead of your boys, you would have seen it."

Hermione smiled weakly. "Thank you, though," she said quietly, sniffing hard. "It is a bit of a... a relief that someone knows now...I-I didn't want to upset anyone." 

"Ron...he's taking it very well, considering..." Lavender remarked.

Hermione's eyes closed, a surge of bile rising in her throat. "Considering he doesn't know it happened."

"Holy shit! Hermione!" 

"No one was meant to find out," Hermione said wearily. "No one. It's over. I just want to get on with my life. Ron would..." She trailed off, her cheeks burning. What _would_ Ron do? She honestly had no idea. "It's over now."

Even though she had closed her eyes, she knew that the other girls were exchanging looks, but they had both promised they wouldn't tell anyone what had happened and they would honour those promises.

_That_, she knew, _wouldn't necessarily stop them dropping hints, though._

She almost laughed faintly at the thought.

Ron and Harry were going to be so confused by the time the year was out.


	4. Chapter Four

"What's this? An armed guard?"

Hermione laughed, albeit weakly, at Ron's comment as he looked from one of her companions to the other. She was flanked by Parvati and Lavender, who were giving Ron knowing nods and exchanging subtle glances with one another.

"They've decided that...that they're going to be my secretaries this year," Hermione said, aware that the girls clicked their tongues in disapproval, no doubt wanting to interrupt and say something else.

Beside Ron, his mouth covered with his hand, Harry seemed to be having trouble smothering chuckle at the incredulous look on Ron's face.

"Secretaries? Hermione, you're only the Head Girl! Not the Minister of Magic!"

"Tell these two that," she tried to sound flippant, as she nodded towards the pair of girls. "I'll be perfectly capable of taking care of all my work."

"In that case," Lavender said, her hand resting on Hermione's left shoulder. It wasn't much, but the contact was reassuring. While Ron had been joking about her having a guard, it did...kind of feel like that. She felt safer with them there. "We're going to be her fashion consultants."

"Or we're going try to help her, at least," Parvati added, giving Hermione a pointed look. "But sometimes, she just won't take our advice."

The implication was there and Hermione bit on the inside of her lip.

He didn't need to know. He didn't need to be hurt by knowing. Parvati didn't know what she was talking about.

"That's our stubborn Hermione," Ron laughed, then grabbed her in an impulsive hug. Hermione, caught off-guard, cried out in fright and, immediately, Parvati and Lavender extricated her from her startled boyfriend's arms. "What the...?"

Hermione was torn between bursting out laughing at the completely nonplussed look on Ron's face and crying because even that sudden bit of contact from someone she loved more then anything had brought all the memories tumbling back.

Her skin had gone from molten hot to ice-cold in rapid succession, in a matter of seconds. She felt a wave of dizziness wash over her, blinking hard to clear her head, an arm under hers holding her steady.

"You all right, Herm?" Lavender asked, sounding almost casual, but there was a note of concern in her voice.

"You just made me a little dizzy," she replied, the hand supporting her arm falling away. She looked up at Ron, giving him a watery smile. "I don't know if I'm coming or going with everyone pulling me left, right and centre..."

There was an odd expression in Ron's brown eyes, a combination of hurt, confusion, concern and doubt. "You mean I'm not allowed to give you hugs anymore, because your... fashion consultants don't like it?"

"Don't be daft, Ron!" Lavender laughed. It sounded convincing, carefree, merry but Hermione could tell it was forced. "We just want to finish our assessment of her look without you messing it up any more, before we start working with her."

"After all, we have our work cut out for us," Parvati agreed amiably, wrinkling her dainty nose. "We don't want even more work."

"Thank you very much," Hermione muttered. 

"We just want to make sure we do the best we can for you, Hermione," Parvati said, looping her arm through Hermione's and giving both the boys a smile. "Now, if you don't mind, we're going to take the Head Girl down for breakfast."

"But we were going to go to see Hagrid..." Harry said, his green eyes on her face. He knew something was wrong. She could tell and it was making her skin prickle with unease. How could he always tell?

"Sorry, Harry," Parvati said stubbornly, the tone in her voice suggesting if Harry even tried to argue, he would be very, very sorry. "We want to discuss fees with our... what would you call her, Lav?"

"Test subject?" Lavender suggested.

"Hey!" Hermione said indignantly. "I'm not some kind of Guinea-pig!"

"C'mon, Head Girl," Parvati grinned. "Breakfast time."

Hermione looked from one girl to the other. "I don't have a choice in this, do I?"

"Actually, now you come to mention it," Lavender quickly looped her arm through Hermione's free one before Hermione could pull away from either of them and gave her a smile. "No. You don't."

Harry and Ron stared at them, as the girls swept off down the hall. Hermione shot an apologetic look back at her friends, where they had been left standing - looking rather shell-shocked - outside her private room.

She was practically frog-marched all the way down the staircases to the Great Hall, where Parvati and Lavender stopped at the doors. Releasing her arms, they looked around and apparently spotted someone. 

It was early, so there were only a few pupils in the hall so far, but most of the teachers were there already. 

"Hermione," Lavender turned to her. "There's Professor McGonagall...we...we think you should tell her..."

Staring at the taller girl, Hermione was convinced she had to be hearing things. She felt the colour seep from her face. "That's why you brought me down here, away from Harry and Ron? To...to make me tell them?"

"Hermione," Parvati began.

"No!" Shaking her head, Hermione backed away from them, out of sight of everyone in the Great Hall. How could they do this? How could they try and force her to tell someone else? They had promised not to tell anyone! "I told you I wanted to forget about it!"

Parvati's face contorted in concern, as she took a step towards Hermione, one hand held out in supplication. "Hermione, you need to tell someone...please..."

"I don't want to!" Clenching one hand against her stomach as a familiar burning, sick feeling spread outwards from it, the brown-haired witch swallowed hard. "I told you I didn't want to tell anyone..."

"Hermione," Lavender started to say.

"No! I'm not telling anyone else! And if you try..." Fishing around for a threat, she pulled her wand out, her hand shaking, and pointed it at each of them in turn. "I could make you forget everything...I could do that!"

"We just want to help, Hermione," Parvati pleaded. "Just tell McGonagall."

"I can deal with this," Hermione hissed, blinking hard to force back tears. Her wand shook, but was aimed at Parvati's heart as she spoke. "I'm not letting that bastard ruin my life! I don't need anyone else to know! Promise you won't tell anyone or I'll obliviate you now!"

Parvati looked hopelessly at Lavender. "Lav..."

"All right, Herm," the taller girl said, raising her hands in submission. "We'll let you do what you like until you're ready, okay? You don't need to obliviate us. We won't tell anyone, even if we think we should."

Slowly lowering the wand, Hermione looked down at it in disbelief. She had just threatened her classmates, people who were trying to help her, people who actually cared about what happened to her.

"I...I'm sorry," she whispered, shaking her head, her eyes burning. "I...I..."

Lavender breached the space between them and wrapped her arms around Hermione reassuringly. "It's okay, Hermione, it's okay," she said softly, comfortingly. "Me and Parv... we'll look after you, okay?"

"But I...I threatened you...I-I'm as bad as he is..."

"No!" Lavender almost shouted it. Her hands on Hermione's shoulders, she held her at arm's length. "Hermione, listen to me, you're nothing like him! Nothing! You're worth a hundred, no - you're worth a thousand of him, if not more. You...you're just having a nervous reaction. Its understandable."

"And, at this rate, we'll get used to you waving that bloody wand in our face every day that we'll be able to duck in time so you don't have to worry about catching us off-guard or putting our eyes out or something," Parvati added. 

Hermione almost laughed, but it came out as more of a croak. "You two are barking to be bothered about me."

"Actually," Parvati grinned slightly. "We're just barking all the time. No one ever bothered to realise it."

Reluctantly pulling away from Lavender, Hermione sniffed hard. "I've realised it, haven't I?" she said, scrubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand and forcing a faint smile. "H-how about we get some breakfast?"

***

"So, have your fashion consultants finished with you yet?"

Hermione looked up from the piece of roast beef she was pushing around her plate to find Ron standing just behind her, a hesitant half-smile on his face. "Ron! Yes, they're finished now!"

"We are?" Lavender demanded, from the opposite side of the table. "But Hermione, we haven't even started on the hair..."

Ron squeezed in between Neville and Hermione, giving Hermione an affectionate smile that made her stomach whirl. "Well," he said amiably. "Just so you know, I like your hair just the way it is."

Heat flushed up her cheeks and she hastily looked down at her plate to hide a smile.

"Ron!" Parvati shrieked wildly.

He visibly jumped with fright. "What? What I do?"

"You made her change her skin tone, you twit! Now we're going to have to redesign her whole make-up system!"

Lavender was staring at the panting Parvati with as much shocked amusement as the rest of the Gryffindor table. "Calm down, Parv," she suggested, patting her friend on the head. "It's called a blush. It'll go away soon enough."

"Yes, Lav, I'm well aware of what she's doing, but what happens if she," wailed Parvati, making air-quotes with her fingers. ""Blushes" when she's wearing the teal?"

Lavender's blue eyes went wide. "Omigawd!"

"Exactly!"

"Ron, you just saved us from making your girlfriend look like a clown!" Lavender exclaimed, leaping to her feet, Parvati by her side. "Hermione, c'mon! We have to go and find something that doesn't clash before your blush goes away!" 

"Nice to see them taking their job so seriously," Ron remarked, making Hermione laugh softly, as she speared a sliver of beef with her fork. Her attention was focused completely on tall, red-haired and gangly at the present time. "Although someone might want to tell them to cut down on the caffeine."

"HERMIONE!" Lavender repeated at a shout, waving her arms. "We have to save your vanity case!"

Hermione blinked at the two girls, having just put a chunk of beef in her mouth. "Um...?"

"And we'll have to find something to work with that hamster look she has going on there," Parvati muttered to Lavender, who nodded gravely, tapping her chin with her fingertips pensively.

"Chubby cheeks...in or out this year?" the taller of the two asked, looking to her counterpart for confirmation.

"In, most definitely..."

"Right," Lavender nodded. "Better make sure that she stuffs her cheeks with food every day before she goes out."

Hermione choked on the beef she was chewing and immediately was slapped firmly on the back by Ron, who looked like he was having trouble keeping his face straight at Parvati and Lavdender's running commentary. 

"Choking adds an opening for matching purple or blue...whaddya thing, Parv? Purple?"

"Maybe with a dash of blue for shading?"

"Ideal...now...about lips that go blue when you choke...I think gloss works wonders for emphasis..."

On the opposite side of the table, the sniggering Seamus poured a fresh goblet of pumpkin juice for Hermione and she gratefully accepted it, coughing several times before gulping the contents down, her eyes watering.

She was aware of Ron's hand still moving on her back in slow, soothing circles. It was a nice, comforting feeling and she gave him a nervous smile, before averting her eyes, her cheeks growing warm again.

"Don't worry, Hermione," he murmured, his lips so close to her ear that she could feel the heat of his skin radiating against her own. "If they try to do anything like that to you, just let me know and I'll throw Harry at them."

She could barely register a word that he was saying, the light warmth of his breath making her hair ripple against her skin. It was making her tremble in a way that she hadn't felt for days and she couldn't decide whether it was a good or a bad thing.

His hand slid down her back, to loop his arm around her waist. 

It was something he had done since they had first got together, something that was 'their' trademark, something she loved him doing, just to show the word in a subtle way that she was his girlfriend. 

His hand spread on her side, close to her right hip. This was bearable. This was all right. This was fine. His fingers started moving in slow circles against her jumper, the sensations passing through to her already-tingling skin and her tremors grew more prominent.

A dizzying wave of nausea washed over her.

She couldn't face this.

Not being touched like this, not in such an innocent way, not now, not even by Ron.

Her fork clattered from her shaking hand onto her plate and she scrambled out from the seat, her face burning. "I-I'm sorry, Ron," she gasped dizzily, taking a step back from him, the confusion and hurt on his face sending a stabbing pang of guilt through her. "I-I-I have to go."

Turning, she fled, ignoring him calling her name.

Hot tears of anger, shame and self-loathing were burning in her eyes again as she ran out of the Great Hall. They gathered and spilled free, as she darted up the staircases and along the corridors towards her private room.

Gasping the password, panting, her lungs heaving, she stumbled into the room as the painting opened, pulling it closed behind her. She staggered to her bed, flinging herself on the mattress and sobbing.

A curious mew from Crookshanks made her raised her tear-sheened face and she struggled to sit up, gathering her cat in her arms, her eyes pressed shut. "I wish you hit his throat when you clawed him, Crooks," she whispered hoarsely, her cheek pressed against Crookshanks' ginger back. "I wish I knew he was gone. Gone for good."

Tilting his head, her pet nuzzled her cheeks, licking away salty tears.

A knocking on the painting made her look up sharply, her grip on her cat tightening, her other hand going for her wand. 

"Who is it?" she demanded shrilly.

"Just me, Hermione."

Harry.

No doubt he had heard from someone or seen what had happened with Ron in the Great Hall moments earlier.

"J-just a minute!"

Scrambling off her bed, she ran to the small sink that stood in the far corner of the room, splashing cold water on her cheeks to dull the burning there and towelling her face dry quickly.

Straightening her uniform, she opened the painting. As she had guessed, Harry Potter was standing there, a concerned look on his face. Forcing a smile, she motioned for him to come in. "What are you doing up here, Harry?"

Looking around the room appreciatively, Harry turned to face her. His expression was earnest. "I came to find you, actually," he replied. "Ron said that something upset you at dinner."

"Upset me?" 

Oh God...did her voice really sound that shrill and pathetic?

"Hermione..."

She laughed, an odd, high-pitched laugh, and even to her own ears it sounded stilted and forced. "I'm fine, Harry! I don't know what Ron's on about! I-I-I was just feeling a little ill...that bug I had, you know..."

"Yeah," Harry took a step towards her and she back-stepped away from him, a little uncomfortable with the serious look on his face. A flicker passed in Harry's green eyes and Hermione licked her lips nervously.

He had noticed she was backing away.

Her mouth felt dry, her throat tight, her hands clenching into fists at her side.

If he had noticed that, as he certainly appeared to do, he would also have noticed that she never used to back away from anyone. If anything, she had always been the one that pushed forwards.

He noticed too much, Harry.

Swallowing hard, she tried to smile at him and took a baby-step forwards. "So...so is there anything you wanted to talk about?" she asked, hoping and praying and pleading with anyone who could hear her that she sounded more confident than she felt.

"I was wondering what was wrong, Hermione."

"Wrong?" Another false, shrill laugh made her cringe internally. "Nothing's wrong! Why would anything be wrong?"

Green eyes gazed placidly at her and she felt her resolve falter. 

Ever since she had met up with him and Ron again, it was Harry, Harry and his genuinely good, understanding nature that had almost brought her to breaking point. 

He knew what it was like to be hurt, more than anyone she knew, and his eyes seemed to carry the understanding and knowledge of someone treble his age. It was this nature of his that had almost reached her.

It was like the pounding impact of a rubber ball being bounced repeatedly against fragile sheet of glass. While it looked like it was having no effect, tiny, barely noticeable cracks had been webbing out - a little at a time - across the protective shell she had enclosed herself in. 

One more strike and it would shatter completely.

"Hermione, I'm your friend, you know," Don't say it. Don't say it. Please don't say it. Please. Please. I don't need to hear it. I don't want to hear it. Please. "You can talk to me, if something's wrong."

Oh Harry...

I can't.

I daren't.

You'll tell Ron. You tell Ron everything and if you told him this, he...

He doesn't need to know.

Please understand. Please. 

He would be angry...shocked...hate me...be disgusted...ashamed...ashamed that me, his girlfriend, could let this happen...that I asked for this...that I must have been showing so much that he took my offer...that I could have almost enjoyed it...

Turning away from him, Hermione tried to level her breathing, her vision blurring.

Her chest felt tight, painfully tight, as if bands of iron had been coiled around her ribs, her shaking hand spread over her heart. Her fingers bit into her skin and she could feel the bruises blossom already.

"Hermione," She shivered when his hand touched her shoulder. "Hermione, look, if Ron's done something to upset you...if I've done something, can't you at least tell us what it is?"

"No!" Spinning, she stared at him, shaking her head. How could they think that they had done something? "No, you haven't done anything! You or Ron!"

"Then what is it that's upsetting you?" he challenged, meeting her eyes. There was no anger or malice in his eyes, only genuine concern and Hermione had to quash a whimper of pain. "There's something wrong and you're not telling us."

He cared so deeply.

She could see it in his eyes.

He just wanted to help her, to understand, to **know **what it was that was causing her to act like this.

"I-I can't say, Harry," she heard her voice shaking saying to him. "Not yet. I have to work some things out. I just need a little time." 

How? What force of man or nature was making her speak? What was producing these words? 

Her brain certainly wasn't. 

It was currently rocking in the corner of a padded room, somewhere in her skull.

Harry raised a hand and squeezed her shoulder, then gave her his gentlest, most understanding smile. 

The final blow was struck and she felt her barriers crumbling around her.

She longed, wanted, wished desperately to throw her arms around his neck and sob out the whole story, but something - no doubt the same something that had made her speak moments before - was holding her back.

"I better get back to Ron," he said, lowering his hand from her shoulder. No! Don't go, Harry! No! Please! Let me speak! Please! Help me! Please, Harry, please! "We'll be about when you're ready, all right?"

"All right," her voice replied, strangely calmly, and Hermione was convinced she could hear her mental self pounding helpless fists against the iron door that had just been slammed on her.

She wanted to tell Harry. She wanted him to know everything and keep on giving her that little understanding smile. She wanted him to hug her, soothe her and tell her it would be fine.

Something, some part of her, wouldn't let that happen.

She felt like she was weighted down with lead as he gave her another smile and slipped out of the room, leaving her standing there. Tears broke from her lids and slid down her cheeks.

"Harry..." she tried to call him back, but her voice was little more than a squeak. Her legs slithered out from beneath her, leaving her sat in a heap on the floor, tears silently spilling down her face, her hands limply lying in her lap.

She was still sitting there, staring blindly in front of her, when Parvati and Lavender hurtled into the room.

"Hermione!"

Parvati shook her. "Hermione, you all right?"

Blinking, she raised blood-shot eyes to the dark-haired girl. "I-I almost told Harry... but I couldn't...I tried to tell him...but I couldn't..." she whispered, shaking her head, her throat raw and her voice rasping. "I tried...I tried to tell my friend...but I couldn't tell...I couldn't..."

"Oh, Herm..." She was quickly gathered in Parvati's arms and drawn to the exotic girl's chest, Parvati holding her and rocking her. "At least we know, eh? At least someone can give you a hand now and then, right?"

Nodding, Hermione closed her eyes and wished with all her might that it was Harry.

***

Sitting in her window box, Hermione stared out into the grounds. 

There was a greyish wash to the day already, even though the sky was clear but for a few dashes of cirrus. The sun had barely kissed the lip of the horizon, morning dew still lying fresh in a sheet over everything.

Today would be a better day than yesterday, she had been telling herself repeatedly since she got up, an hour earlier, unable to sleep.

Yes, there had been another nightmare, but it was hardly significant.

Just one nightmare. 

Yes, it was longer than any of the others had been, yes it was more violent than any dream she had ever had before and yes, she had been sobbing and terrified when she had woken, but it was still nothing more than a bad dream.

Just a dream.

Not real.

Leaning back against the wall of the window-box, she tilted her head back, pressing it against the stone until her skull throbbed in protest, and closed her eyes. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she tried to suppress a shiver.

A dream, she told herself, just a dream.

It was the knowledge that the dream came from the real experience, from her own mind and memory albeit distortedly, that was weighing down on her though. It was a dream _this time_, she corrected, shuddering. 

Sitting back up, she swung her legs out from the window seat. Sliding onto her feet, pulling her dressing gown around her and tying the cord tightly, she shuffled over to her desk, picking up her timetable.

She had no real need to be up this early, since breakfast wasn't for another hour and a half at least, but she had been unable to get back to sleep since five o'clock, when she had woken crying out and shaking.

Studying her class times, as she wandered over to her wardrobe, she distractedly pulled a fresh shirt out, leaving the door open a crack. Walking back across to her bed and draping the shirt on top of her skirt, tie and underwear, ready for the trek to the bathroom, she ran a hand through her tangled hair with a yawn.

How she wished she could have had just a few minutes more sleep.

Perhaps, she mused, laying the timetable down on the end of her neatly-made bed and brushing a few flecks of dust off her shirt and skirt, she ought to ask Madam Pomfrey for some dreamless sleep potion.

After all, she could claim she needed as much rest as possible, especially with the impending duty that came with being Head Girl.

There was really no other reason she needed to give.

Checking her pile of clothing, she nodded. All she needed now was a towel, so she wandered over to the small sink that stood in the far corner. Several of the white Hogwarts towels were folded neatly beneath it, one hanging on the brass ring beside the mirror.

Picking up two, she glanced at her reflection with grimace.

She looked awful, she truly did. Dark rings circled both eyes, which were bloodshot and shadowed with pain and exhaustion. Her cheeks, which were usually rosy with life, were chalk white.

Smiling thinly at herself, she saw a flicker in the reflection of the room. A creak from beside the wardrobe made her stiffen, the towels falling from her hands and she looked past her own image to that of the room in the mirror.

"Oh God..."

No.

NO!

Her hand clutched at her chest, her heart slamming rapidly against her sternum, as she forced herself to turn, burning bile scalding its way up her throat as she came face to face with the one person she hoped she would never see again.

"Malfoy..." she whispered dizzily, her head spinning.

He couldn't be in here!

He just couldn't!

How could he have come to the school? 

How could he have gained access to her room without her noticing?

He was wearing exactly what he had been wearing that night, dark, ominous and terrifying. His long hair was loose about his shoulders, his cane in his hand, a little smirk on his thin, white lips. 

"I told you I would see you soon, little girl." 

Shaking her head, Hermione started edging along the wall away from him, one hand clutching the front of her dressing gown, pinning it closed. Her breathing was growing dangerously rapid, her eyes burning with tears of panic and fear.

"Leave me alone," she tried to scream it, but it slipped out as a breath.

He took a lazy step towards her and she cringed back against the wall, the shelf unit bumping bruisingly against her back.

"I must say, you are being awfully rude," he murmured, taking another two steps towards. Scrambling sideways, knocking books off the shelves as she went, Hermione stared at him wildly, panting and sobbing.

"Get away from me! Leave me alone! Leave me alone!"

His lips twisted in that sinister smirk she wished she had never been cursed with seeing. "What would be the satisfaction in that, dear girl?"

"I don't care!" she wept, raising a trembling hand in desperate supplication as he drifted closer. "Please, don't...don't...please...leave me alone...please..."

"I think not," he murmured silkily, looming over her, the chilly light from the windows playing eerily on his features. Hermione flinched back as one gloved hand rose and the fingertips neared her face. "Such a disappointment, tamed so easily."

His words made her jolt, the sick feeling in her stomach burning through her.

"Get away from me!" she screamed out, scrambling backwards, away from him. 

A startled gasp escaped her as she felt something metal strike her ankle, tripping her. Plunging backwards with a shriek, her arms flailing uselessly for anything to catch herself, she felt something connect with her head, then...blackness.

***

"Hermione! Hermione!"

Blackness still surrounded her and her head was aching as if it had been struck with a hammer. It felt like it was about to implode. However, she could hear someone crying out her name, shaking her shoulder.

Then it came back to her.

Who she had seen.

Her eyes snapped open and she scrambled backwards across the floor on her hands and bottom, away from the hands that wee gripping her, looking around wildly for the familiar, sneering face.

He...

He wasn't there.

A terrified, wide-eyed tawny face was staring at her, though.

"H-Hermione? Hermione..." Her voice pierced through the shaking witch's hazy, terrified awareness. "You've bumped your head...must have fallen...hit it on the the fireplace...need to get you to Madam Pomfrey."

Parvati?

Parvati had scared him away?

"He was here," she whispered shakily, looking around. Every little move made her vision swim dizzyingly, but she had to check, had to be sure he was gone. "Parvati, he was here... in my room...he was here..."

"No..." Parvati crawled quickly across the floor to her side, taking Hermione's hands between her own. Hot hands. Very hot hands compared to her own. Hermione stared at them. Her own looked almost chalk white. "No, Hermione. He wasn't here."

"No? But he was here! I saw him!" Panic-stricken, she nodded towards the place she had spotted Malfoy, tears burning down her cheeks. "He-he was there...I was looking in the mirror...and he was watching me...came towards me...I tried to run away...I tried... and I fell..."

"Hermione," Those very hot hands came up to her face, burning against her skin, so very warm. She felt dizzy and sick all at once. Parvati met her eyes. "I need you to listen to me, Hermione, please..."

"But he might come back...back again, like he said he would," Hermione whispered, shaking her head, black spots flaring on the outer edges of her sight. "Please...don't make me stay...please..."

"Hermione, it was a boggart."

Hermione felt her brow furrow in shaken confusion. "No...no, it couldn't have been a boggart..." she whispered, clutching at Parvati's upper arms. "I see teachers with bad grades when I see a boggart...I don't see him...I've never seen him before..."

"Listen to me, Hermione, listen..." Parvati whispered, still holding the other girl's cold face between her hands. "Boggarts take the form of the thing you most fear...you have a new fear...not teachers anymore..."

New fear.

Him.

Forever in her mind.

What she would see if she ever faced with a boggart again.

What everyone else would see her see, if she was faced with a boggart.

Tears scalded down her cheeks and she shook her head. She didn't want him to be her new fear. She didn't want him to be anything to her. She just wanted to forget it happened. She just wanted it all out of her mind.

"Make it go away!"

"What?" Parvati stared at her in incomprehension. 

"Obliviate me," Hermione cried, shaking the other girl desperately. "Get rid of it! Make me forget! Please!"

"I-I-I can't do that, Hermione...even though I want to...I can't..."

"Please..." Hermione buried her face in her hands, her whole body shaking with the force of her anguish. "Please...don't let me remember...let me forget...take it away from me...take it all away..."

Parvati slid closer and wrapped her arms around Hermione. Tears of anger and sympathy slipped silently from her amber eyes as she pressed her cheek against the top of Hermione's bowed head and hugging her tightly. 

"It's going to be all right, Hermione. Everything's going to be fine," she whispered softly, even though both of them knew it was a lie. "It's going to be all right."


	5. Chapter Five

Lying on her back on her broad bed, Hermione stared blindly at the canopy of the four-poster above her, her hands interlaced across her stomach, trying to convinced herself to close her eyes and get some sleep.

Thus far, it hadn't worked.

She knew she couldn't face seeking out Madam Pomfrey and asking for even more dreamless sleep potion, because she had done so too often already and the Medi-witch was already suspicious.

Especially after the incident with the first boggart.

She swallowed hard, remembering Madam Pomfrey's face when she had stumbled into the medical wing, Parvati supporting her and blood matting her dark hair from a cut on the back of her head.

The medi-witch had been horrified and had treated her rapidly, firing questions at Parvati about what she knew: No, she didn't know what happened. Yes, there was a boggart in the Head Girl's room, in the wardrobe - which had been open - no doubt. No, it didn't look like Hermione had realised that it was a boggart. Yes, it appeared she had tripped while backing away. Yes, she had got rid of the boggart before she had reached Hermione.

Hermione had lain quite still, listening to the conversation between the dark-haired girl and the older witch and was unsurprised when the topic changed, moving onto her recent behaviour.

Had Parvati noticed any differences in Hermione's demeanour? Had she noticed if the Head Girl had been acting at all strangely? Did she know if Hermione had been having any problems with...any particular person?

Listening, Hermione had never been more grateful to Parvati when she replied - after a painfully long hesitation - that Hermione was probably just a little bit stressed out because of the new responsibilities she had.

Of course, having almost concussed herself with a little fall, Hermione's condition had been brought to the attention of Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, who visited her in the medical wing.

They had both asked if everything was all right.

She had claimed that all that was wrong was a rather bad headache.

Despite looking rather sceptical, both of the Professors had accepted this reasoning and left her to rest and recover from the nasty bump on her head. Ron and Harry had also visited briefly, but Madam Pomfrey had shooed them away. 

Of course, after word spread about her run in with an unexpected boggart, someone who should not have known about it heard the whispers.

Peeves.

Much to her terror - and the fury of Lavender and Parvati - the wretched poltergeist had found it highly amusing to direct another boggart into her bedroom only a week after the first.

It had been worse than the first though.

Even though she had known what it was, even though she had practised her defence spells, even though she had tried to cry 'Riddikulus' and fight it off, her voice had jammed in her throat and her wand had slipped from nerveless fingers, leaving her unarmed and terrified.

It had glided closer to her and this time, she couldn't run, couldn't even manage to cry out for her. 

Replicas of gloved fingertips had caressed her face, as she had backed up against the wall, pale lips lifting in the chilling smile that was becoming as familiar to her as if she were seeing Malfoy every day.

Those hands had casually started to play down the front of her white shirt, cool and harsh through the fabric, touching in a way that made her almost certain that she was trapped in a nightmare.

Pressing her eyes tight shut, she had cowered back against the wall. Crookshanks wouldn't save her this time, hunting mice in the castle, when the largest rat of all was right here, in their room.

Her shirt had parted and she had felt hot tears on her cheeks, clenching her fists by her sides and willing it to be over.

She didn't know how long it had held her there, trapped between the wall and her worst nightmare, but she recalled the instant she heard a loud curse from the door of her room in a familiar voice.

Lavender!

She had heard the other girl perform the riddikulus spell, as she had sunk down the wall and pressed her forehead against the top of her knees, her arms folded over her head as she had tried to make herself as small as possible.

He had still been there, when Lavender had spoken, in that form, wearing the mask of that horrific, cold face, so Lavender had discovered just who Hermione had been attacked by. 

Lavender's blue eyes had burned with hatred any time Draco had crossed their path after that day.

Lavender and Parvati had also sought help to prevent Peeves from doing such a thing again, although it had taken a great deal of consideration, since Hermione had still refused to tell the teachers.

In the end, her private room had been expanded into the large, three-person bedroom that she now occupied with her two protective female 'secretaries', which had caused no end of surprise and confusion for Ron and Harry.

The Bloody Baron had also been tracked down by the two girls and when he had tried to ignore and avoid them, Lavender had...rather lost her temper, getting right up in his face and snarling at him about what had happened and what ought to be done.

Much to Hermione's subdued amusement, the Slytherin ghost had forbidden Peeves from having any further contact with boggarts or from going near the corridor where the three girls resided.

Turning onto her side, Hermione stared at the wall beyond her bed blankly. 

Her eyes ached for sleep, a hand biting into the pillow beneath her head as she tried to let her exhaustion overcome her, but - as always - the fear of the nightmares was lurking on her consciousness.

They hadn't come close to stopping, not by any means of the word.

Had she still slept in her own room, she knew there was every chance that she would have continued to sleep through them, tortured by her psyche, but now, Lavender and Parvati would wake her and comfort her as soon as she cried out.

It had meant less sleep for both of them, although a little more for her, comforted by their presences. What little sleep she had, she was grateful for.

In the darkness of the room, only broken by slashes of moonlight through the filmy drapes over the windows, she could hear the soft squeaks of Parvati's gentle snores and Lavender's even breathing.

She knew that if she asked, one or the other of them would sit up with her, but - she repeatedly told herself - they didn't need to lose what rest they were getting to mind her, especially not when she was awake.

Turning back onto her back, she pulled the blankets up to her neck and stared at the dark canopy again. Her eyes felt dry and itchy, but they refused to close for longer than a heartbeat.

Sighing, she lay there, wondering if she would ever be able to sleep normally again.

***

"Happy birthday, Hermione!" 

A hand deposited an awkwardly-wrapped...lump of colourful paper on the table in front of Hermione and she looked up in surprise at the owner of the arm, to find Harry smiling down at her. 

"Harry!" she couldn't help smiling up at him, but her eyes flicked passed him in consternation. "Where's Ron?"

"It's a weekend," Harry said by way of explanation and Hermione nodded with an understanding smile. Ron wasn't exactly known for being up early and weekends meant he had no reason to be, which he took full advantage of. "Going to open it?"

Hermione picked up the lump of paper, squeezing it experimentally. Whatever was contained in it was in a box and she ripped away the paper like a child would on Christmas day, curious.

A plain plastic box greeted her and she carefully opened the lid, a gasp escaping her as it revealed a round gold locket, nestled in the velvet lining, on a chain with her initials engraved on the front.

"Open it," Harry suggested softly, still standing alongside her.

Looking from him to it, she opened the locket with shaking fingers to reveal a tiny photograph of her, Harry and Ron, taken at the end of the previous term, in one side and in the other, something was engraved.

"Best friends, forever," she read.

Harry went a little red. "I know it's kind of cheesy," he started to say.

"No," she interrupted. "No, it's perfect, Harry. Honestly." Holding it out to him, she asked, "Can you put it on for me?"

Taking the slim chain, he waited until she lifted her hair up and looped the necklace around her throat, the light brush of his fingertips against the back of her neck making her start instinctively.

Strangely, though, she didn't feel the horrible, hot rush of fear that went through her when Ron touched her on any spot aside from her hand or her back.

Perhaps, she mused, it was because she saw Harry more as...well, he almost felt like a brother sometimes. She had never had a sibling, but she loved him in a way that was so much more than simple friendship, yet didn't slip past platonic.

Reaching over her shoulder, he straightened to locket over her chest, where it settled nicely against the knot of her tie. 

"Looks nice," he volunteered his opinion.

Smiling, she fingered the cool gold. "Thank you," she murmured, looking down at it, a sign of the friendship she had gained since joining the wizarding world and of the love and care she had found.

_And, _a nasty little voice hissed at the back of her mind, _the friends that you betrayed by lying to them time and time again. You've been at school a fortnight and have you told your so-called friends the 'truth' once? No. Call that a true friendship?_

Hermione pressed her eyes shut, a nauseous feeling sweeping through her.

They didn't need to know.

It would only cause more hurt and anger.

"You all right, Hermione?" Harry asked, sliding into the seat next to her. He looked down at the barely touched piece of toast lying on her plate and the half-cup of cold tea that she had forgotten about minutes earlier. "You're looking a bit peaky."

"Mmm," she acknowledged noncommittally, swallowing hard to squash down the bitter bile that was burning in her throat and making her feel sick.

Through half-closed lids, she could see Harry scrutinising her and forced a smile, picking up a piece of cold toast. Chewing on it, her stomach roiled in protest and she started to her feet with a mumble of, "Excuse me..."

Scrambling over the seat, she turned to exit the Great Hall and immediately crashed into Ron, his arms going around her to stabilise her.

Hermione went rigid, her blood throbbing painfully in her ears as she stared wildly up at Ron, his arms securely around her waist and spread low on her back, over _that_ particular spot...

"All right, Hermione?" he said, smiling his familiar smile, but even that couldn't stop the feeling building in her stomach.

"Let go of me," she whispered, her voice trembling as his hand moved a little and brushed over the sensitive spot on her spine, making a heated chill of terror lance down her back. He stared at her, puzzled. "Ron..." Squirming, she pushed against his chest. "Ron, please!"

Stepping back, he raised his hands. "All right!" he said, hurt on his face, but she couldn't apologise, couldn't stay in the hall a moment longer.

One hand to her mouth, the other clutching her twisting stomach, she fled out of the hall and to the nearest toilets. Staggering up the stairs, through the door and stumbling into one of the cubicles, she vomited what little breakfast she had eaten.

Kneeling on the floor of the toilet, she leaned heavily against the wooden partition, shallow gasps escaping her. Her mouth tasted bitter and her stomach felt like it had been squeezed dry by an immense fist.

How?

How could one little touch like that make her feel so...so...violated all over again?

Her face crumpled, she pressed her eyes tightly closed, as she clutched her burning stomach. Hot tears spilled down her chalk-white cheeks, all colour washed from them, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

"Hermione?"

Jerking upright at the voice, Hermione felt another wave of dizzy sickness wash over her. The fist contracted around her stomach again and she leaned quickly over the toilet, retching painfully, even though there was nothing left in her stomach.

"Hermione!" The door of the cubicle was open behind her anyway. She hadn't had the energy or thought to close it, so when she heard Ron's voice from right behind her, she didn't look round. "Oh Christ...Hermione!"

"I'm okay..." she croaked, bowing her head over the toilet bowl. She couldn't look at him, couldn't face him, not like this.

"You're not, Hermione," he said carefully. She could hear the rustle of his robes, assumed - correctly - that he was kneeling and shivered when his hands came to rest on her shoulders. "C'mon. We better get you to Madam Pomfrey."

"No...no..." She shook her head, raising a hand to wave him off. "It...it must have been something I ate..."

Ron, though, didn't appear convinced. "Hermione, this is just daft," he said, a hand coming up to her face. She flinched as his fingertips touched her chin, turning her face towards him. "You're not well. Madam Pomfrey'll be able to help."

"But I'm all right..." she lied weakly.

Sighing, Ron slid an arm behind her back. "C'mon," he said gently, helping her to her feet. She stumbled and before she could argue, she had been lifted up completely in those surprisingly strong arms, her own arms locked around his neck tightly.

Burying her face in his shoulder, she bit on her lower lip, trying unsuccessfully to stop herself from crying. 

They were in the medical wing in a matter of minutes and Hermione vaguely registered Madam Pomfrey's tongue clicking in dismay at the sight of her, as she was laid on one of the beds by her boyfriend.

"What happened this time, Miss Granger? Another fainting episode? Or another fall perhaps?" she asked, waving Ron back from the bed. One hand took Hermione's wrist, while she studied the girl.

Ron cut in. "She was being sick in the toilets, Madam Pomfrey."

"It...I think it was something I ate," Hermione whispered, her throat raw and burning painfully. The bitter taste was still lingering in her mouth and she struggled to sit up, reaching for the water jug on the table.

Immediately, Ron grabbed the jug and poured her a glass, handing it to her with one of his warm, hopeful smiles.

Her own smile wan by comparison, she sipped the water, the cool liquid easing the burning in her raw throat, while Madam Pomfrey laid a hand against her forehead, her lips still pursed.

"Now, what have you eaten that might have made you ill, Miss Granger?" the medi-witch asked, her eyes on Hermione's face. "You don't have a temperature, but you are considerably paler than usual."

"I-I-I don't remember," Hermione mumbled, looking down at the glass in her hands.

"How very convenient," Madam Pomfrey huffed. 

The Medi-witch had been growing increasingly suspicious with every time that Hermione had been brought in, but Hermione had refused a check up, saying it was probably a stomach bug or something that she caught in Greece.

So far, the excuse had held.

So far.

***

It had taken more convincing than usual to persuade Madam Pomfrey that she was quite all right and that, yes, she would be more careful about what she at in the future.

Exiting the medical wing, Hermione was unsurprised to find Ron waiting for her, an anxious look crossing his face as he spotted the bottles of helpful potions that Madam Pomfrey had plied her with.

"You all right?" he asked quickly.

"Yes," she replied vaguely. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you."

He studied her, then held out his hands. "Want me to carry them for you?"

Hermione squinted up at him, feeling even more tired than she had been feeling in the last few days. Sleep was clearly deciding now was a good time to try and catch up with her.

"Could you?" she felt herself swaying on her feet. "I-I think I need to lie down."

Somehow, although her legs felt completely detached from her body, she made her way to her room at Ron's side and - albeit reluctantly - she invited her boyfriend into the room, the door closing behind them.

Making her way to her broad bed, to the left of the door, she sat down on the edge of the mattress, crossing he arms over her chest and closing her eyes. "Sorry I went a bit mad in the hall, Ron," she mumbled. "I..."

"You weren't feeling well," he finished.

She heard the clunks of the bottles being put down on the tables, a shiver running down her back. Squeezing her folded hands between her knees, she didn't open her eyes when she heard him approach, until she felt his hand touch her knee.

"Hermione, I know you're probably not feeling up to this now," he said, as she opened her eyes and stared at him warily. One hand disappeared into the pocket of his robes and he withdrew a small parcel even more untidily-wrapped than Harry's. "I-I was going to give it to you downstairs and if you want to open it later..."

Her hand was shaking as he lifted it in his own hand and placed the small package, about the size of an average size potion phial, in her palm. 

"What is it?" she asked quietly.

One side of his mouth lifted. "That's why you have to open it, love," he said, lifting a hand to stroke his knuckles down her cheek, drawing back when she flinched away. The hurt on his face made her feel like she had been punched. "Hermione..."

"I-I'm sorry," she whispered, fingering the wrapping of the parcel. "I'm just a bit tired and...well...this tummy upset..." Forcing herself to meet his eyes, she managed a watery smile. "I'll open this now, though."

Her fingers were trembling as she peeled the light paper off. A silver charm bracelet lay in the nest of torn paper, hung with a dozen small charms including a book, a cat, a pointed hat and a cauldron.

"D'you like it?" he asked hopefully.

"It's..." Each of the charms, she realised, identified a facet of her personality and nature. He had clearly taken a lot of time finding them. Tears brimmed in her eyes at the thought of the effort he had gone to, as she touched each charm, causing them to jingle softly against one another. "It's lovely."

Ron sighed with relief. "I hoped you'd like it," he said happily. "Here...let me put it on for you."

She smiled again, clenching her hands into fists as he took the bracelet and fastened it around her right wrist. Finished, he captured her shaking hand between his two and stroked his thumb over her knuckles.

"Ron, please..." she whispered, her voice fading as she tried to speak clearly. The light touch was raising the familiar rash of prickling goosebumps on her skin and she was starting to feel dizzy again. "I-I don't want to be rude..."

"I know, love," He gave her a heart-breakingly sad smile. "I just wish I could have spent more of your birthday with you."

Swallowing hard, Hermione met his eyes, wetting her lips with her tongue. "I-I'll try to come down for dinner tonight," she said, withdrawing one of her hands from his, to reach up and stroke his cheek. 

A tremor ran down her back when he tilted his head and kissed her wrist. 

Clearly, he noticed it, turning to gaze at her, the intensity in his brown eyes taking her breath away. Rising on his knees, she felt one of his hands frame her face and closed her eyes.

Her heart was pounding painfully and she spread her hands on his chest, trying to push him back, trying to stop him, trying to stop herself from shaking as she felt the warmth of his breath on her face.

_This is Ron_, she mentally chanted. _This is Ron. This is Ron. This is Ron._

Lips brushed hesitantly against hers and she was sure that her heart had stopped, her hands shaking wildly against Ron's chest. A tight pain filled her chest, as if something was contracting the muscles of her heart inwards, agonisingly.

Jerking back from Ron with a gasp, she shook her head, one hand clutching at her chest. "I can't," she gasped, panting for breath. "Please Ron..."

"Can't what?" he asked, the bewilderment on his face matched with the hurt. "You don't want me to touch you...kiss you anymore? Is that it?" Hermione pressed the heel of one hand against her forehead, her eyes burning. "Are...do you want to stop seeing me or something?"

"No!" she exclaimed, so shrilly her voice was more of a scream. Her hands came up to frame his face, then fell away and she shook her head. "No, Ron, never...it's...it's just that I...something happened...and I need to think about it..."

"What is it?" he asked, concern alighting on his features. He took her smaller hands in hers so very gently, as if she were made of the most fragile of glass. "Do...do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

Tell him.

NO!

Tell him and everything'll be fine.

No! He'll hate you! He'll think you did it on purpose and remember, you almost enjoyed it. What does that make you?

Don't listen to that, Hermione, tell him. Just tell him.

And what if he hates you, eh? What if he hates you as much as you hate yourself? I doubt you'd be able to cope.

Looking down at their joined hands, Hermione shook her head, blinking hard to force back tears that were threatening to fall. "I-I can't," she said softly. "I can't tell anyone...not yet..."

"Well, when you want to...if you want to, you know I'm here."

She nodded, not raising her head, as he got to his feet. He dropped a light kiss on the top of her head and she heard him walking away across the room, the door creaking as it opened. 

"Maybe see you later, eh?"

Nodding again, she swallowed down as sob as the door squealed closed. Two hot tears splashed on her hands, where they still lay limply in her lap.

***

"Miss Granger?"

Staring blindly down at her open Transfiguration book, Hermione was oblivious to Professor McGonagall looming over her, until a bony hand was placed on the page in front of her, making her look up in surprise. 

"May I ask what you are so engrossed in, Miss Granger," the Professor said in a cool voice. "When I have asked you a question four times and you have yet to even acknowledge my existence?"

Blinking, Hermione stared at her teacher in confusion. "I-I was reading."

"Apparently so," McGonagall said, though there was a gleam of concern in her eyes, which made Hermione shift uncomfortably in her seat. "So, Miss Granger, perhaps you can tell us what you have learned from the text about the physical difficulties of transfiguring a human into another form."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply and immediately had to snap it shut again.

She had been trying to read the text of the hefty book to answer the questions on the parchment they had been handed at the beginning of the lesson and yet, now that she tried to think of it, she couldn't recall a single thing she had read on the page.

"I-I-I don't know, Professor," she whispered in a voice shaking with surprise, worry and confusion, hardly able to believe that she - Head Girl and top-grade student for six years - had been unable to answer a question at all.

And apparently everyone else in the Advanced Transfiguration class was just as surprised as she was, judging from the ripple of gasps that went around the room.

Professor McGonagall's brow creased, her lips thinning slightly. "Are you sure, Miss Granger?" she asked, as if she was having trouble comprehending the reply that Hermione had given her.

Shaken, Hermione looked rapidly down at the book, hoping something would jump out at her. Surely the answer was common sense too, if it were regarding the changing of a human into an inanimate or even animate object.

She felt the colour flood from her face, staring wildly at the letters, which just seemed like a mess of puzzling marks on the page. Forcing her shaky breathing under control, she wet her lips, trying to focus on the words.

"Miss Granger?"

Pressing the heel of her left hand against her forehead, Hermione stared frantically down the page, shaking her head. This was impossible. She never panicked. She had to calm down. This was easy. This was class-work. This was what she excelled in.

A hand touched her shoulder and she looked up to find Professor McGonagall gazing down at her in consternation.

"Are you all right, Miss Granger?"

Nodding, her throat feeling like it was constricting, she tried to smile. "I-I'm fine," she replied. Her voice was oddly squeaky. "I-I-I suppose I must just be a little tired."

McGonagall nodded, moving on to someone else for the answer. It seemed that she believed Hermione's lie for the most part. 

Hermione wondered how that was possible, since she could feel the sweat beading on her brow, her face felt cold and clammy and she knew, without a doubt, that she was as white as a sheet.

Tired?

In reality, she was terrified.

What was wrong with her? When she was reading the book, why had she blanked out in the class? Was she really so tired and distracted by what had happened that she couldn't even pay attention in the class anymore?

The booming chime of the bell that signified the end of class made her jump.

Hadn't they just arrived? Where had the last hour gone?

Shaking her head, she quickly started piling her books and parchments - unmarked - back into her bag, capping her ink bottle and carefully sliding her quills into one of the side pockets.

Standing, she had just hefted her bag onto her shoulder, when Professor McGonagall looked up from the desk and straight at her. "A word, Miss Granger," the Professor said in a way that brooked no refusal.

Making her way towards the desk, her hands clutching the strap of her bag tightly, Hermione felt an uneasy twist in her stomach, guessing what the Professor would no doubt want to ask her about. 

The last loitering pupil disappeared out the door and Professor McGonagall lifted her rectangular spectacles off the bridge of her nose, folding them and placing them on the surface of her desk.

"Miss Granger, is there anything troubling you?" Hermione shook her head at once, shifting from one foot to the other, her eyes on the floor. "Miss Granger, I assure you, just because I am a teacher does not mean you can not talk to me. In fact, I would be greatly relieved if you did at present..."

Brown eyes jerked up. "What do you mean?" Hermione winced at how sharply the words left her mouth.

McGonagall's dark eyes gazed at her, the Deputy Head Mistress' lips flattening into a thin line which was not one of anger, but more one of suppressed concern. "Miss Granger, not to put to blunt a point on it, but I am not your only teacher to notice your distinct slump in work standard."

The world swam briefly before Hermione's eyes and she clutched at the edge of the desk for support. "I-I-I haven't been doing that badly," she mumbled, wondering briefly if maybe she had without even realising it.

Professor McGonagall folded her hands gravely. "Professor Flitwick informed me that you have been unusually distracted in class. You may attending the classes, but he has been wondering about your lack of active participation in the last few weeks."

Active participation?

"I did the spells," Hermione protested weakly. "I did them right away."

"And then," her teacher said. "You apparently sat and did nothing for the rest of the class, while everyone continued to practise. From what Professor Flitwick and I know of you, we know that this is unusual behaviour."

"That doesn't mean my grade will drop! After all I managed the spells!"

McGonagall's expression became a little more severe. "You managed the spells, but they had the wrong results, Miss Granger. Your confundus charms had the effect of a weak memory-development charm."

"Oh," Hermione said weakly. "I-I didn't realise."

"And your potions work..." A grimace crossed Professor McGonagall's face. "Well, I think that it is safe to say that Professor Snape feels that you have not been giving his subject your all. We have been growing concerned, Miss Granger. All of us."

Hermione's sweaty hand came to her forehead and she squeezed her temples with her finger and thumb. 

"I-I don't know why I'm being like this," she replied, although her mental voice was chanting something about lying and underwear burning. "I-I haven't been sleeping well recently. It could be that."

Professor McGonagall's eyes bored into hers. "Are you sure, Miss Granger?"

The truth was dancing on the tip of her tongue as she stared at her teacher, knowing that this was an adult, a powerful one at that, who might be able to help, who might be able to take the problems away.

_Or_, her cruel little mental voice reminded her, _she might blame you for it happening at all._

"Yes!" she exclaimed, although her voice was even more high-pitched than it had been before. A sceptical expression briefly crossed McGonagall's face, but she picked up her glasses and put them back on.

"Very well, Miss Granger," she said gently. "But perhaps you ought to ask Madam Pomfrey for some sleeping draught, if you are having such difficulty sleeping. After all, you have a promising future ahead of you. It would be a tragic waste for it all to fall away now, due to lack of sleep."

"Thank you, Professor," Hemione murmured, turning towards the door. Pausing, she looked back to the Transfiguration teacher. "Professor..."

McGonagall looked up from the book she was writing in at once. "Yes, Granger?"

Hermione opened her mouth to reply.

Then shook her head, her voice shrivelling in her throat at the worried look on the Deputy Head Mistress' face.

"Nothing," she replied, turning away and walking out of the classroom.


	6. Chapter Six

Sitting in the morning sunlight flooding through the bedroom window, Hermione's fingertip traced down the boxes of her calendar, marking off the previous day and checking the homework she had due.

In the last few weeks, she had resorted to writing her homework dates down in her two different diaries, one for classes and one that was kept in her room, and her calendar, just to be absolutely certain that she wouldn't forget to do it.

Again.

A rather unfortunate incident, involving a two-foot scroll for Potions, the distinct absence of said scroll on the day that it was due in and a cruel verbal assault from the Potions Professor had taught her the folly of being late with homework.

Somehow, though, she doubted that Snape had actually managed to reduce one of his eldest pupils to tears before.

Snape had been looming over her, staring at her in the same way that _he_ had looked at her. His lip had curled and she had apologised, pleaded that he give her more time, that she would have it for the next day.

He had told her she was transpiring to be quite the disappointment at a time when she needed her wit most. Normally, she would have ignored him, worked on what she had to, but somehow, some way, he...

It was almost as if _he_ were standing over her.

Not Snape.

Not a Professor.

His cold words, his chilling tone of voice, his...cruelty.

No teacher should ever have spoken to a pupil that way, she knew. He had behaved that way for years, but his sharp-tongued words had never affected her quite as badly as they had that day.

Tears had streamed down her face before she could stop them and she had bowed her head, hoping that he would not have noticed. 

He had, of course. 

Clearly uncertain about to behave around crying girls, he had immediately snorted and ordered her out of his classroom until she was ready to behave like the adult she was alleged to be.

Fortunately, he had kept her back after the rest of the class had left, so no one had seen her breakdown, although Lavender and Parvati had been waiting for her, keeping Harry and Ron at a distance with the power of their unified glares.

Frowning, she looked at her calendar.

That couldn't be right.

Grabbing her quill, Hermione ran her finger down the page again, checking the lines filled with different pieces of homework, wondering if it was possible that she had missed a week or six somewhere.

"You coming down for breakfast, Hermione?" Lavender inquired from in front of the large, round mirror, on the other side of the room. She was brushing her long, sandy-coloured hair.

"Yes," Hermione replied distractedly. "Yes...just a minute..."

"What's up?" Parvati asked from her bed, where she was sitting, hastily pulling on her socks and shoes.

Hermione looked around at them. "It...is it December already?"

"You mean us fighting over the only chocolate advent calendar in the room every morning for the last four days didn't give it away?" Lavender grinned.

Hermione stared at her. "I thought you were fighting over a hairbrush."

"Well, yeah, we did that too," Parvati admitted, brushing her pleated skirt down as she stood up. "But that's only every other morning. The chocolate from the calendar does take priority."

"For some reason, it doesn't feel like much time has passed..."

"You have been a bit... distracted," Lavender said carefully. She put the brush down on the shelf beside the sink and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "And you have had the Head Girl stuff to deal with."

"It just..." Hermione scrunched up her nose, trying to hide her confusion. "I keep thinking I've only been back a couple of weeks."

"Someone's been living in a dream world," Parvati muttered, raising her eyes to the ceiling. 

Hermione felt a wave of dizziness washing over her. Yes, she knew that she had been distracted and had been having trouble focussing, but to blindly work her way through nearly half a term.

"Have...have I been sleeping during the day...or blanking out in classes or anything like that?" Too much dreamless sleep potion. That had to be what was causing this blur in her consciousness.

"Sleeping...a little on a couple of days here and there," Lavender shrugged. "You've been so tired lately that even Harry and Ron didn't want to disturb you when you were asleep and the Quidditch matches were on."

"Qu-quidditch? I missed it?" A hand rose to her forehead. 

This was crazy.

"Your work has got a lot better, though. McGonagall hasn't kept you back in class for another... chat since back in October," Parvati said reassuringly. "And you haven't had any nightmares for a while." 

All right, maybe it wasn't so hard to believe how time had flown.

Looking back down at her calendar, she had to admit she had thrown herself into her duties as Head Girl, in order to distract herself from the memories, dealing with other peoples' problems to block out her own.

Trust Harry and Ron to let her rest.

They had often popped up to her room, only to see her poring over towering piles of scrolls, some of them homework, some of the peeves of the pupils, which she had to deal with, and some of them props to be used as an excuse to avoid having to go to socialise with everyone watching her.

Even though Parvati and Lavender insisted no one was watching her, she couldn't help feeling like everyone knew everything and that they were all staring at her as if she were some kind of animal in a zoo.

Shaking her head, she closed the calendar over. She could sort out the dates and times later. 

Now, though, she had to worry about Potions first thing and sending a belated letter to her parents to let them know that she would be coming home in the last week of December.

Only two and a half more short weeks of classes and she would be safe with her parents, in a nice, normal, safe house with her mummy and daddy to look after her, far out of the sight of... him.

The thought of them made her smile.

It would be odd being back in a room of her own, without Parvati and Lavender there to watch over her, but having her parents around would be worth it.

Although, she added mentally as she got to her feet and picked up her satchel, she would have to collect several bottles of dreamless sleep potion from Madam Pomfrey some way or another, just in case.

After all, she didn't want her parents getting upset, especially over Christmas.

"We ready?" she asked.

"If you are, oh mighty and all-powerful Head Girl!" Lavender replied with a mock bow, which earned her a half-scowl from Hermione, who was trying very hard not to laugh. 

Honestly, the two girls she now lived with were probably the battiest creatures in the world and she wondered what her year would have been like if she hadn't had both of them to lean on.

Parvati was snickering behind a hand. "And she's meant to be the oldest," she said dryly, shaking her head, as they made their way to the portrait door. "I'd say she's closer to mental age of a toddler."

"And thank you for noticing," said Lavender, grinning. 

***

Exiting the Potions classroom, Hermione inhaled a lungful of fresh air. The dungeon classroom had been clammy and claustrophobic, the fumes sapping what air there was, leaving all the pupils sweating and breathless.

"Thank goodness that's over," she commented to Harry. He was on her left and was polishing the lenses of his glasses frantically. He nodded, then held up his glasses to the light, but they were still blurred.

"What was in those fumes?" he said, shaking his head and scrubbing the lenses of his glasses on the front of his robes again.

"Pure essence of Snape?" suggested Ron, giving them both a small suggestion of a grin. "Greasy enough, isn't it?"

Hermione couldn't help smiling in response, which made his grin widen. 

Ever since the incident in her bedroom, Ron had been rather careful around her. He had only touched her, if she had touched him first and he hadn't tried to push her into anything, which she was grateful for. 

She had often caught him watching her, as well, gazing at her in a way that made her flush to the tips of her ears. 

Strangely, though, his longing gaze didn't make her feel as uncomfortable as it had only a few weeks earlier. It was an...affectionate kind of look, not the kind of look she had expected she would receive.

_Mind you_, she had pondered, _when you expected to be looked at like dirt, affection hadn't been high on your list of emotions to expect from your boyfriend._

Just that morning, at breakfast, she had made the epic-sized baby-step and taken his hand, albeit briefly. The smile that came to his face could have lit up the whole Great Hall, the melancholy, concerned look on his face vanishing in that instant.

"Are we waiting for your guards?" Harry inquired, jerking his head back into the classroom, where Lavender and Parvati were bewailing the damage that the potions class had inflicted on their precious hair-dos.

Hermione couldn't help chuckling. 

The boys had taken some time to get used to the two fashion-conscious girls trailing her everywhere, usually armed with notebooks so they actually looked the part of 'secretaries', but now they were used to them.

While nowhere near as close as their little triad, Parvati and Lavender had actually become an extended part of their group and the boys had been surprised at how well they actually hit it off with the girls, when they talked to them. 

"It would only be fair, wouldn't it?" Ron replied, stepping aside to let a few pupils out of the door. He shook his head in the direction of the pair. "I don't know how we put up with them."

"More like how they put up with you, Weasel."

Hermione's chest tightened at the casual drawling voice of Malfoy Junior just behind her. Drawing a breath through her nostrils, her teeth clenching together, she felt her hands curl into shaking fists. 

While nowhere near as intimidating as the father's voice, it had the same pitch and sound to it.

Since they had got back to school, she - along with her friends - had managed to avoid him, lingering behind or hurrying ahead of him, not even giving him a chance to launch his verbal arsenal at her.

"Probably pity," the voice continued. "Or maybe it's because you three pitiful cases make them look good. Especially you, Granger," Flinching as a pair of hands came to rest on her hips and a cool breath hissed in her ear, Hermione felt a burning in her stomach that was far too familiar. 

All she had to do was step away.

Ignore him and step away.

But...

Like his father, there was a but...

His voice...so like..._his_.

"Bushy-headed, beaver-toothed..." His voice sank down lower and she pressed her eyes shut as his insidious voice whispered for only her. "Probably shagging every one of those brain-dead Gryffindors to even get a little bit of attention."

"Stop it..."

"Let go of her, Malfoy."

Harry.

"Don't want to share your toy, Potter?"

Malfoy's voice was ice on her skin. She tried to move. Her body refused to respond.

"I'll break your bloody neck!"

Ron!

"What, Weasel?" Malfoy chuckled. "Jealous that I can touch your...oh, what is that awfully quaint term? Oh, yes, your girlfriend and she doesn't run away from me and throw up?"

"Let go of me!" Hermione half-sobbed, jerking free. She whipped round to face him, backing away.

"You didn't seem very keen to fight me off, Granger. Wanted to try something high class did you?" Malfoy smirked and she stumbled. She could feel sick heat rising in her face, her head pounding with the dizziness that was crashing in on her.

"I'm going to kill you!" Ron yelled furiously, struggling against Seamus and Dean, while Harry gathered Hermione back, away from Malfoy. "How dare you! How dare you, you stinking son of..."

His words were cut off by the sound of a feminine hand connecting - hard - with Draco Malfoy's smirking face.

Lavender Brown was staring savagely at him, her lips peeled back from her teeth in an unmistakeable snarl of anger.

"What the..."

Before he could finish what he was about to say, Lavender had reversed the blow, backhanding Malfoy sharply across the other cheek, leaving glaring red patches on Malfoy's pale face.

Crabbe, Goyle and the other Slytherins just stared.

This wasn't what they had been used to dealing with.

Neither were the Gryffindors for that matter. Every single one of them was staring at the slender, delicate-looking girl in astonishment. 

Ron had sagged in Seamus and Dean's grip, the boys barely holding him. Harry, towering over Hermione, had his arms wrapped around her protectively and she clung to him. Parvati was standing in the door of the class, her hands pressed against her mouth, while Neville whimpered just beside her, watching between his fingers.

Lavender, though, didn't notice or seem to care.

Grabbing the front of Malfoy's robes in her fists, she steered him forcefully back, until he slammed back against one of the dark stone columns that lined the wall. By the torchlight, her eyes flashed frighteningly.

Draco Malfoy's face had bleached, leaving the red handprints on his cheeks glowing like beacons, panic in his eyes.

Hermione was suddenly very glad the sandy-haired witch was on her side.

"Never," Lavender snarled, giving him a savage shake, then slamming him against the column again. "And I mean never, ever speak against Hermione Granger or any of our companions again, or I swear by all my ancestors that - Pureblood or not - I'll rip your goddamned balls off and feed them to you!"

"You can't threa..."

Another slap was landed, a deafening crack in the strangely silent hall.

"Don't you even think about trying to tell me what I can and can't do, Draco Tiberius Malfoy!" she spat angrily, a finger pointing at him, the long nail barely a centimetre from the tip of his nose. "My line are of older blood than yours! I am your elder by four months and thus, I have right of speech, by kin-blood, age and honour! I am taking that right and telling you to stay away from her! You know I have every right to say this and you know what my parents and their kin will do to you, should you break this edict!"

Hermione was watching with bated breath and she was certain that she wasn't the only one. None of the Gryffindors had ever heard Lavender mention anything of the Ancient Pureblood traditions.

She had mentioned she was pureblood and her family was probably of about the same standing as the Malfoy name in the wizarding world, but - because most of the Gryffindors weren't - it had rarely been a subject of in-depth conversation.

Glancing at Ron, Hermione could see he was half-envious, half-delighted. She knew that he would want to be the one to both land the blows and the insults, but with his family being where they were, he could do neither.

Malfoy's mouth opened and shut several times, but no sound - except an oddly strangled squeak - came out. Apparently, judging by the half-panicked, half-startled look on his face, the blood edict was not something that was taken lightly.

Lavender released his robes, the expression on her face one of arrogance. Turning away from him, she didn't even look around as he edged past her and stalked away down the corridors, scowling.

"Wow..."

Dean nodded at Seamus' comment. "Seconded!"

Lavender's lips shifted into the smile she was more familiar for. "Well, I couldn't let him pick on a fellow-Gryff like that, could I?" she said, looking at Hermione, who felt a surge of relief and gratitude so powerful she couldn't even form words. "Don't worry about that twit, Hermione. He won't bother you again."

Leaning back against Harry's chest, his arms still securely wrapped around her, she nodded. "Thanks, Lavender," she whispered, pushing her hair back from her face, her cheeks still burning.

"All right, Hermione?" Harry asked, raising a hand to help her brush the loose hair back from her damp cheeks, her fingers shaking too wildly to catch every strand.

The sick feeling was calming once again, although her stomach still felt like it was tangled in knots, and the heat that had rushed through her veins at Malfoy's touch was washed away by Harry's calming embrace.

"I'm all right," she croaked, swallowing hard.

"Hermione," Ron's raw voice spoke beside them. She looked at him, a watery smile making it's way onto her lips. Had her legs felt less jelly-like, she knew she would have thrown herself into his arms and hugged him for trying to take on Malfoy.

"Ron...you...thank you..."

He wasn't smiling anymore.

His eyes moved over her body and to Harry's arms that were still around her.

"I see what's been going on around here," he said quietly, shaking Dean and Seamus off him. He glanced past Hermione at Harry's face, then met her eyes. The expression in his eyes made her start: anger, betrayal, hurt and despair. "You...you don't want me touching you...but him...it's all right for him to touch you..."

Oh God.

No! 

No, he couldn't think that!

"Ron..." Trying to make herself move, Hermione's legs felt like lead and she shook her head desperately. "No, Ron...we're friends...nothing more..."

"She's right, Ron! We're just friends!" Harry added quickly, lowering his arms and letting his hands rest on her shoulders, to help her remain upright. "You know I've never been interested in Hermione that way!"

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed Lavender and Parvati herding the rest of the house away quickly.

"Then explain something," Ron exclaimed, a tense note in his voice. "How is it that you're allowed to touch her and every time I do, she pulls away, or runs away, or has something else to do?"

Hermione's shaking hand came up to her face. The sick feeling had returned tenfold and she shook her head, swallowing down waves of bile, her eyes brimming with tears of pain and disbelief.

"How do you think I could do that to you, Ron?" she whispered, staring at him. "Do you honestly think I would cheat on you with our best friend? Do you really think that little of me?"

It came out baldly, but it had to be said.

"Who is it that's touching you right now, Hermione?" he asked quietly. His hands were balling into fists and beating rhythmically against the side of his thighs and the muscle in his cheek tightened. "Scuse me," he spat tightly. "I'll leave the two of you alone now."

"Ron!" Both of them called out, as their red-haired friend turned and stormed away towards the staircase that lead up from the dungeon.

Releasing her shoulders, Harry took a few steps away from her. "I'll..."

"Talk to him," Hermione agreed sadly, already knowing that even Harry would be unlikely to say anything to appease Ron and his famed temper. "He...he won't listen to me when he's like this and you...you're his best friend."

"If all else fails, I'll let him hit me," Harry replied.

"I hope it doesn't come to that," she muttered in response. Leaning back against the cold wall, she pressed her eyes shut as she heard Harry running up the stone steps, drawing slow steadying breaths. 

Just when one particular problem had been take out of the way, now this...

Running a hand wearily over her face, which felt a lot colder than it should have, she bent and picked her bag up from the floor and pulled it onto her shoulder, her back aching from the weight of the contents. 

Only one class down, a blood-feud initiated, two best friends split up.

It looked like it was going to be a good day.

***

Things had not improved by the time the evening meal arrived.

Ron ignored her when she came into the hall, flanked by Lavender and Parvati, both of whom shot a concerned look at her. They were worried about her reaction, she knew, but she couldn't react anymore.

She simply didn't have the energy for it.

Sitting down at the table at the only available spaces, almost opposite him, she kept her head down. Picking at the food, she could feel her eyes burning, darting glances at him from beneath her lashes.

Ron was staring blindly down at his plate with none of the anger she expected. His expression was one of misery and hurt, as he toyed with his fork and pushed bits of food around his plate.

Looking three seats along, separated from Ron by the other three boys, Hermione could see Harry, also eating in silence. One side of his face was slightly swollen and he looked like he would have a black eye by morning.

A surge of pain ran through her. 

This was all her fault.

If only she had been able to act more normally, Ron and Harry would still have been best friends and neither of them would have suspected anything or fallen out over a nonexistent affair. 

She had to do something.

Had to explain.

Had to stop them from ruining the best friendship any two people had.

Even if it meant that they knew...

Swallowing hard, despite the feeling of a tight fist clenching around her gut as she fully saw the pain etched in Ron's features, she forced herself to speak, her voice shaking. "R-Ron..."

His plate was pushed away savagely, knocking over Neville's goblet and splattering pumpkin juice all over Hermione, as he jerked to his feet. "I'm feeling a bit sick," he growled with a dark look down at her. "Think I need some fresh air. There's a nasty smell here."

The disgust, hate, misery, pain, anger and dozens of other emotions that filled Ron's dark eyes hit her like a slap to the face and she gasped, recoiling.

Ron didn't direct those emotions at her.

He didn't.

It...he...

Ron cared for her. Ron didn't hate her...

Or he had cared for her...

Turning, he stalked out of the Great Hall, leaving Hermione shaking in shock, her sticky, trembling hands touching her stained shirt in disbelief, her eyes brimming over with tears. "Oh God..." she whispered, lifting her face from her shirt, hot tears sliding down her pale cheeks. "He...he hates me..."

"No..." Lavender said vehemently, although it still lacked conviction. "He...he's just a bit confused..."

"No," Hermione replied in a quaking voice, burying her face in her hands. "His eyes... he hates me."

There was a clatter of cutlery being slammed down and Hermione forced herself to look up, hoping and praying that maybe Ron had returned and that the disgust and distaste she had seen in his eyes was...had never happened.

Harry was standing up, his face contorted in anger.

No...no more anger...please...no more...

I didn't want this to happen...

Please...

Let them forget...let everyone forget...

"I'm going to knock some sense into that bloody idiot," Harry said.

"No! Harry, please!"

Green eyes were only one pair of many that stared at her in confusion. Damn them all! Let them stare! She wouldn't have Ron hurt more just because she was stupid enough to be assaulted by Malfoy.

"Don't hurt him, please. Talk to him..." she implored, her eyes stinging. "He...he doesn't understand..."

"He doesn't understand see we're friends?" Harry snapped, his eyes flashing, though the anger - she knew - was directed at Ron, not her. "Hermione, look what he did when we 'talked' earlier!" He gestured to his face, the bruises on his jaw and the swelling around his left eye. "You think he'll let me talk and actually listen to me?"

Hermione's eyes locked with his and she actually saw him flinch. "Harry, please," she whispered. Even though the thought of it made her heart thunder in her ears and her hands shake, she knew they had to understand to stop this silly fight. "We...we all need to talk, all right? Tell him that...tell him to come to my rooms with you...we...we need to talk."

Harry nodded. "I'll do what I can."

She managed a weak smile, as she stood up too. "Thank you," she said simply, as he hurried out of the hall. Looking at Lavender and Parvati imploringly, she couldn't help feeling a strange sense of relief as they got up and joined her, leaving the hall.

Almost every was on them, watching them leave, no doubt wondering what had caused both Ron and Harry to depart before them.

Hermione found she didn't care what they thought.

"You all right, Hermione?" Parvati asked as soon as they were out of the doors.

Shaking her head, she didn't trust herself to reply, tears burning down her face.

"Hey now!" Lavender quickly looped an arm around Hermione's shoulder, warm and reassuring. "You're doing great, Hermione, and now...if Harry can drag that gingery git in, everything'll be all right. They'll look after you as well as us."

"Y-you think so?" Hermione whispered hopelessly, scrubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand.

Lavender nodded. "Positive."

A weak smile reached Hermione's lips and, while she was practically convinced that Lavender was lying through her teeth, it was a reassurance she needed. "I'd better get cleaned up then."

"Makeover?" Parvati inquired with false brightness.

"I was definitely thinking less of the pumpkin-juice chic," Lavender added, her arm still round Hermione's shoulder as they walked towards the grand staircase which lead up to the dormitories.

"Just clean clothes are good for me," Hermione said quietly. "I just want to be able to talk to them without glowing orange." 

"We have trained her well," Parvati said with a wise nod. "Orange is the colour of not-appropriateness. You have learned well, our young guinea pig."

"Apprentice," Lavender interrupted.

"That's what I meant," Parvati agreed quickly.

Hermione couldn't help smiling a little. "You two really are odd," she decided. They beamed at her for the commendation.

***

"I don't get it!"

"Where are they?"

Parvati and Lavender were pacing the room, apparently torn between going on a quick search for Ron and Harry, or staying with Hermione until the two boys decided to show face.

Hermione didn't need to be asked where they were.

She knew exactly.

Sitting in her window seat, her knees pulled up to her chest, Hermione stared out into the grounds, tears silently spilling down her face. It hurt, hurt so very much to see what she was seeing, knowing it was her fault.

On the grass of the lawn, in the gathering twilight, she could see her friends.

Harry had been shouting at Ron, then Ron turned around and yelled back. Then, they had started to hit each other and she had tried to turn away, but something had fixed her eyes on the sight of their friendship crumbling.

It was that same something that rendered her incapable of fighting Malfoy when he spoke or of telling anyone what was wrong or of even moving back towards some sense of normalcy. 

It was the cruel part of her consciousness, which thrilled in causing her pain, forcing her to acknowledge that what she was seeing was her fault. Harry was to lose his best friend because of her. Ron was to lose his best friend because of her.

It would have been easier, she told herself, her throat burning, if she had never accepted her place at Hogwarts. It would have been so much easier for all of them. If she had not come, they would not be fighting as they were now.

Maybe she sobbed aloud.

She wasn't sure, but something drew the attention of her two roommates.

They were both leaning over her shoulder and were in time to see Professors Sprout and McGonagall rushing down - across the grass - to separate the fighting boys with their wands.

"Oh..." Parvati said dumbly. "There they are."

Ron and Harry both looked like they were still raring to rip strips out of one another, despite the wands of the teachers being trained on them. The two teachers directed them back up, towards the school.

"I knew he wouldn't listen," Hermione said dully, picking up her calendar, which was lying on the desk beside the window.

She felt drained. Emotionally, mentally and physically.

Not only was she going to tell them, but she wanted to...

There was more that needed to be spoken about.

Maybe the fact that they were fighting was meant to be some kind of suggestion that she wasn't meant to tell them at all, she mused. Maybe it was meant to stay between her, Lavender and Parvati.

"They...they'll be okay, Hermione," Lavender said in what was meant to be a confident tone, although she sounded sceptical. "This is Ron and Harry we're talking about. They...they've fought before and ended up all right afterwards..."

"Not like this," Hermione said quietly, lowering her knees and crossing her legs, her hands resting limply in her lap, as she let her eyes roam the dates on the sheet in front of her, her brow wrinkling.

Those dates...

There...there was something very wrong about the dates that had past.

Parvati squeezed her shoulder. "At least they're going to be made to talk now," she said comfortingly. "The Professors'll make them discuss it rationally...or at least as rationally as boys can."

Hermione barely registered the words, her fingers trailing over the pages of her calendar, as something struck her. Something that really didn't need to strike her, in any way shape or form.

There!

That was what was wrong about her calendar and diaries.

Something she had missed.

"She's right," Lavender agreed. "It can't get any worse."

The smile on Hermione's lips was glassy as she looked up from the sheets in her lap. It looked like it would crack at any moment, her eyes haunted. "I wouldn't bet on that," she said, then laughed a strange, strangled laugh. 

It felt like a thousand tiny hands were gripping the inside of her throat, stopping the sound from being as light as she wanted.

"Hermione?" Lavender sat down in the window-seat, lifting Hermione's face. The Head Girl stared back at her, wondering if it would be so stupid just to hurl herself sideways and out of the tower window.

It would be over quickly.

Wind whipping through her hair, against her skin, flying...flying without a broom...

She had never been able to really master a broom. Not really. Would it be so much harder to fly without one? 

Especially if she were flying straight downwards?

Then peace.

Would it be so bad?

Turning, she looked down towards the ground far below, so distant.

Would it hurt?

"Hermione?" Parvati's voice rang in her ears and she felt someone shake her. Tilting her head, she looked around at them, a pair of blue and a pair of amber eyes staring at her with a combination of fear and concern. "Hermione, what is it?"

She blinked, shaking herself. "What?"

"What's wrong?"

She shrugged blandly. 

It was nothing really.

The window and the leap to the ground seemed far more important right now.

"Hermione," Lavender repeated. "What's wrong?"

She smiled blankly at them. It felt like the muscles in her cheeks shattered with the effort of performing the expression that had become so unfamiliar of late.

"Lavender, could you open the window?"

"Window...what?"

Hermione's smile was fixed and agonising. It was all she could to stop herself from breaking down. "Can you open the window for me, please? I want to throw myself out of it so I don't have to deal with this anymore." 

"Hermione!"

"What?" she demanded, her voice as shrill as theirs.

"You're strong! You don't need to do that!" Parvati exclaimed.

Lavender nodded. "You...Hermione, you've been doing so well!"

"I've just realised that I haven't had any periods since we got back to school this term." Hermione's voice cut across their protests like a knife, both falling silent, staring at her in shock. The smile that was fixed on her face wavered. "I-I didn't realise how much time has passed. Didn't care. And now...now, it's December...four months since... since it...it happened...and I didn't even think... so, if you don't mind..." Her voice shook as she spoke, reaching for the window latch. "I would rather like to jump out the window now, before I change my mind..."

"NO!"

"You can't!" Lavender grabbed her wrist, giving her a shake. "Hermione, listen to me! You don't need to do this!"

Slumping against the cool glass, Hermione closed her eyes, the pane fogging against her temple. "I know," she said quietly. She felt strangely calm now that it was said. Strangely... distanced. "I just want to forget it happened. Why can't it be that simple? I get past the nightmares... the touch thing...and then all this..."

"Do you know if you are...you know...?"

Hermione shook her head. "I liked the window idea better than finding out," she said quietly, looking down at her hands, which were cold and pale.

"We...we should do a test...to make sure..." Parvati said. "Hermione, promise you won't do anything stupid..."

Opening her burning eyes, painful from forcing back tears, Hermione looked up at Parvati. "And being pregnant by one of the Dark Lord's chief minions wouldn't be classed stupid enough?"

"Hermione..." The distress in the exotic girl's voice was palpable and Hermione felt a twinge of guilt.

"Sorry, Parvati," she muttered, squeezing Parvati's hand. Lowering her head, unable to quash the stinging warmth in her eyes any longer, she pressed a chilly hand to her brow. "I... it..." A choked sob escaped her. "Bad day...very bad day..."

Both of the girls enveloped her in their arms as she wept.

***

The three young witches were gathered in Hermione's specially-granted muggle-style bathroom, that was connected to their room by a hidden doorway. It was fairly small and comfortable with a bathtub along one wall and toilet and sink on the other.

An empty cauldron stood by the sink, emptied and rinsed by Parvati, while Lavender conducted the test. 

Wizard pregnancy tests were so much...cleaner than muggle ones, involving a single strand of hair dropped into a specially brewed potion. Hermione had given them a hair and said nothing, awaiting the prognosis. 

"But he...he wouldn't let that happen...he can't be that stupid...I mean, I know Draco isn't the brightest candle on the birthday cake, but...but would his father really be that dim?" Parvati said, shaking her head, as they waited for the substance to change colour. "It would prove he had done it..."

Lavender was staring mutely at the test in the bottle in her hand in shock. "No...he wouldn't let it happen..." she echoed, the colour draining from her face, as she raised her eyes. "Merlin... surely even he couldn't be that bloody stupid..."

Hermione, kneeling on the floor and leaning against the side of the bath, lifted her face. "What is it?" she asked.

"Vetus sanguis. O-old blood," Lavender replied, her voice shaking. She watched the potion in the narrow bottle change colour from clear to deep blue. "Shit..." Hurling the test bottle into the sink with a rattling smash, she knelt and gathered Hermione in her arms, hugging the brown-haired witch tightly. "That bloody bastard..."

"What does it mean?" Parvati asked for both of them, her own family only three-generations of witched and wizards.

Lavender's voice was barely comprehensible. "Pureblood witches...they can't be forced to get pregnant. Their bodies let them get pregnant when they're ready, willing and able. Malfoy...he...he must have believed that muggles are the same...he didn't know it could work if he...he force...oh Merlin, Hermione, I'm sorry."

"So I am...pregnant?" Hermione felt strangely numb, as if she were watching herself ask the question. It wasn't her anymore. Someone else was controlling her body and she was sitting there as an observer.

The sandy-haired witch nodded, still hugging her.

Oh.

I'm pregnant.

I'm pregnant with Lucius Malfoy's baby.

Tears gathered rapidly in her eyes, burning painfully, although she couldn't even feel them trickling down her cheeks. Her face felt like it was made of stone. It couldn't move. Or wouldn't move.

Her hands lay limply in her lap and she was vaguely aware of Lavender's fingers stroking through her hair and whispering things that were probably quite reassuring and comforting to her.

Parvati's arms were added to the embrace and she, too, was whispering.

She couldn't hear them, though.

Nothing seemed to matter.

Her whole body seemed to have just...closed down.

She was pregnant.

She, Hermione Granger, former top of the class student and Head Girl of Hogwarts with the potential for great things in the wizarding and muggle worlds, was pregnant because of a sadistic bastard who had decided to play with her.

One of her hands slid up to her belly, pushing her jumper up and she touched her soft stomach with her fingertips. 

There was a baby in there.

A real, living baby.

A Malfoy baby.

A child spawned by the worst night of her life and a testament and memory to it.

Her vision blurred and she felt her lungs constrict painfully, her breathing escaping in shallow gasps. 

Swaying unsteadily, she pushed Lavender and Parvati away from her, scrambling - half on her knees, half staggering - towards the toilet, a surge of bile pouring out of her mouth.

Hacking and choking, she started to sob violently, her long hair hanging around her face, her fingers tightening on the seat of the toilet until her knuckles and fingertips were white. 

Hands pulled her hair back and she felt Lavender's arm around her shoulder again, as she sagged back sitting on her heels.

"Why?" she demanded savagely, her voice raw. Sobbing, she crossed her arms over her chest, rocking back and forward rhythmically, her body shuddering with the violence of her tears. "Why me? Why the hell did he choose me? What did I ever do to deserve this? Why does it seem fair for everyone to bloody well pick me?" 

Lavender's hand on her shoulder squeezed and Hermione folded, pressing the heels of both hands against her forehead, tears surging down her pale face. 

"I dunno why, Herm," she whispered, the bitter anger in her voice a strange comfort to Hermione, as she opened her arms and letting Hermione burrow into her embrace, sobbing bitterly. "I wish I did, so I could go and kill the whole lot of 'em." 

Parvati rubbed her back. "Are...what are you going to do?" she asked hesitantly.

Hermione shook her head. She didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to face it. Acknowledge it. Admit it. Even to herself.

This was all wrong. All wrong.

She was meant to get high grades and finish school with a flourish and prove that muggleborns were as good as purebloods.

She wasn't meant to be left pregnant by some sadistic bastard.

"I-I-I..." She heard the words slipping past her lips and shuddered in partial relief. "I think we...we should tell someone...in the morning...Professor McGonagall...someone who can help..."

She felt Lavender nodding against the top of her head. "Yeah," she heard the sandy-haired girl say. "Yeah, we'll do that, Herm...we'll get this all sorted out...we'll look after you, right?"

"Both of us," Parvati agreed.

But, once more, Hermione found herself wondering about how bad it would be to just open the window of their room and slide out...falling into peace, away from the shame, the dirtiness, the disgust...

Or...

Her hand spread on her stomach.

Make it all go away.

Nodding, tears still rolling down her face, she dug her fingertips into her stomach.

It had to go. It had to.

Everything.

It would be gone and forgotten.

That would be best for everyone.

For now, though, she would let Parvati and Lavender hug her and let her cry the shame and hate out until there was nothing left. 

Nothing.


	7. Chapter Seven

Kneeling on the floor of her bedroom, Hermione looked at the book lying beside her knee, ignoring the knocking on the painting, her shaking hands adding the ingredients of the potion as carefully as she could.

"Hermione? Hermione, are you in there?"

Harry again.

He came to the room and tried vainly to talk to her every day, but she had managed to avoid him since the previous week, when Lavender and Parvati had left, to go home for the Christmas holidays.

Five days without seeing him and even before then, when they still had classes ongoing, she had only seen him sporadically, in the classes or when she exited the Great Hall as soon as he entered it, alone.

He and Ron were still not on speaking terms. 

Ron was still unable to accept that there was nothing going on, since Hermione tolerated Harry's touch but not his, while Harry had gotten so frustrated at trying to get through to his stubborn friend that he no longer wanted to try until Ron was ready to listen.

It truly did look like the end of their friendship.

Ron was so absolutely certain that he had been betrayed.

Harry was unable to find a way to get through to him that nothing had happened, because he simply could not explain why Hermione would touch him, but would flee from Ron.

And Hermione…

She knew that she couldn't honestly answer Ron, if he asked her if she had slept with someone else and, if Harry had asked her if anything had happened, she knew that she would not be able to tell him the truth.

The thought of the disgust on their faces… 

It was more than she could bear, especially now. 

Maybe after, yes, but not now…

Now, Hermione couldn't face seeing either of them, the pain of knowing she was the one to separate them too great.

It was almost a week and a half since she had last seen Ron, face-to-face. 

They had collided in the Great Hall, when she had been on her way out and he had been on his way in, and she had stared up at him, wondering if he was going to push her away, insult her or perhaps hit her as he had Harry.

His reaction had astonished her.

His eyes met hers and he seemed to stare at her for an eternity, as if he had never seen her before, as if she was some kind of wonder. She had started to reach out to him and the spell had been broken.

Stepping around her, he had lightly touched her shoulder as he passed her and she almost turned to go after him. 

She had thought that maybe, maybe this time, he might just listen.

However, the thought of what she was planning on doing, back in her bedroom, out of sight and mind, was nagging at the back of her mind, forcing any thoughts of trying to win back Ron's affections.

Not yet anyway.

She had to get everything out of the way, all the memories, all the evidence and all the issues still burdening her, before she could try and win him back, to prove that she was faithful to him and him alone. 

Even Parvati and Lavender didn't know what she had in mind.

No one knew.

The morning after the discovery that she was – indeed – expecting Lucius Malfoy's spawn, she had woken from a nightmare that had been worse than any she had faced in recent days.

She had been haunted by the visions of the Professors blaming her for what had happened to her, laughing emotionlessly as Malfoy came and defiled her again, in the sanctity of the school.

She had been curled up in the window seat, shivering, her knees pulled up against her chest when Parvati had woken up. Chewing on her thumbnail, she had deliberated over telling Parvati what had happened.

Her body and mind seemed to be completely independent entities, though. Much to her abject horror, she saw her wand rise in her shaking hand and she heard her own voice whisper, "_Obliviate_!"

All memories of the pregnancy were wiped from the exotic-looking girl's mind.

She had curiously asked if Hermione was right and Hermione had stunned herself still further, by smiling weakly and saying it was nothing more than a nightmare that had been bothering her.

When Parvati had gone to the bathroom to have a shower, Hermione was faced with the knowledge that the sleeping Lavender knew, still. Again, her body moved of it's own accord and she heard the whisper of the forgetfulness spell again.

Neither girl remembered anything that had happened after they had seen Harry and Ron fighting.

It was with that leverage that she managed to convince them that she would be all right staying at school for Christmas. She had lied to them, saying that her parents had sent her word to say they had to go away on family business.

While worried about her, she had convinced them that she would be all right. After all, she had been having less nightmares and she claimed she felt ready to cope on her own for a while and, should anything happen, she would owl them, knowing that they would be able to get back via a floo connection if absolutely necessary.

There was a reason she had needed to get rid of them.

Had they known about her intentions, they probably would have tried to stop her, would have forced her to tell the Professors and she knew that she simply couldn't allow that to happen, especially after the latest variation on her nightmares.

Nightmares that she had managed to conceal from them by casting a silencing charm over her whole bed and whatever happened to be in it at a given time. She had also resorted to burying herself so deeply into her blankets and pillows that she was barely visible, even while tossing and turning in the grip of her dreams.

Shivering, she picked up the ladle and carefully stirred the mixture in the cauldron in front of her. 

A black flame was burning under the round pot, that colour specific and essential to this particular potion. She had secretly been arranging the ingredients for the last few weeks, out of sight of her two roommates and now, they were ready.

The potion had been brewing for nearly five days.

Only a little time more, she knew.

It was meant to take a week, if all went well.

Coils of wispy blue-black smoke, tinted with poisonous green flecks, curled thickly over the lip of the small cauldron, hissing as they came in contact with the hissing black flames beneath it. 

It smelt vile, the bitter, acidic stench prickling in her nostrils and making her already-knotted stomach tighten, bile rising in her throat, as she continued to slowly stir it, trying to steady her hand to prevent any mishaps.

Drawing calming breaths, she looked in on the tar-like fluid.

It would work.

It had to.

***

She had tried to do it.

She had tried and failed, not strong enough.

Stolen Harry's cloak to gain access to the one place she could get what she needed, when he had been in class. Stolen ingredients for the potion she required while she had been there. Prepared the ingredients of the potion to the word, over three weeks. Skipping a few classes and avoiding her friends, who didn't even know she was still in the school when the holidays rolled in, to do so.

Then, when it had come down to it, she had tried to drink.

It would take everything away, melt down all the hideous stuff inside her and flush it out of her system, get rid of all the evidence, wash everything out of her filthy, disgusting, loathsome body. 

She hadn't cared how much it was going to hurt - and it would have been agonising, she knew, more painful than anything she had experienced - only knowing that she wanted rid of the physical memory that was growing inside of her.

It.

She had tried to convince herself that it was nothing more than an 'it'.

Not an existing entity. 

Not alive. 

Nothing more or less than a simple 'it'.

As she had raised the smoking glass to her lips, she had touched her stomach, the stomach that was already beginning to show the swell of foreboding, the swell of a life, a child, another human being growing inside of her.

'It' was not it. 

That was when she realised the bitter truth.

'It' was a child, a baby, a life and here she was trying to...

Oh God.

Even the thought of that thought had made her baulk.

The first bitter, hissing drops of the thick, black substance had splashed on her tongue, burning down her throat, and she had been struck by the awareness of what she had intended to do.

Hurling the glass away from her with a sob, she had watched her one chance to be rid of it all splatter across the wall, pain surging in on her as those few drops of the potion ate their way into her system.

The pain had been horrendous, her body felt like it was splitting down the middle and she had been smothered by unconsciousness before she could even reach the door of her room to cry for aid.

How long it had been since that moment, she didn't know.

All she knew was that she was lying in a bed in the medical wing and it felt as if her stomach had been thrust through with a red-hot poker, her whole form curled in on itself in agony.

The lingering taste of an enervation potion tanged her mouth and she forced herself to raise her eyes to the person who was gripping her chin.

"What do you think you were doing you stupid little girl?"

Pain still burning through her veins, Hermione pulled her chin free and shook her head, trying not to sob aloud, her arms clasped around her stomach. She was curled on her side in the bed in the hospital wing, Professor Snape looming over her.

If he didn't know, then...

She couldn't have been there long, if they hadn't discovered her condition.

Madam Pomfrey wasn't even present in the infirmary to tell him to treat her kindly, probably gone to get the Head Master, while Snape was left to bring her awake with his foul-tasting potions.

Well, she did believe that Hermione was just ill.

After all, she would simply have looked like she had a stomach upset. She could vaguely remember vomiting and tasting blood, then looking up to find the Potions Professor standing in her somehow-opened door.

How he had gained access, she didn't know. 

He had probably found just how badly she had done in her Potions essay, one she had written without even reading the question and had come to…talk to her privately, to avoid another scene like her emotional breakdown in the potions class, so many weeks before.

So, he had entered a moment before a black sheet of unconsciousness had dropped down around her.

Only he was aware of it being more than a simple illness.

If he had seen the cauldron and the empty cauldron lying on the floor, how could he think anything else?

"Leave me alone," she whispered hoarsely.

"I shall do no such thing, Miss Granger," he said coldly. "Until you inform me why you felt the compulsion to appropriate several valuable substances from my personal supply cupboard. Do not try to deny it. I was the one to find you and I saw them in your chambers. Was it some great, world-changing potion, you desired to make? Or did you simply find it amusing to become a delinquent and failure in your final year?"

She stared at him, then laughed, a strange, wild-sounding laugh. "If you know what I took," she challenged, her voice shaking with emotion. "Then you must know why I felt the urge to take it."

The Potions teacher studied her for a long moment and, behind his expressionless countenance, she could see that he was mentally working through the various potions she might have been making.

She could see it, the exact moment he understood.

His normally stoic face shifted slightly, betraying shock, disgust and clear contempt for her, which hardly surprised her.

"Well, well, the wonderful Miss Granger...this _is _a surprise."

Turning her face away from him, she pressed her stinging eyes closed, her stomach roiling and twisting painfully. She heard him turn on heel and walk out, his footfalls swift and angry.

The door crashed shut at the end of the ward and she was aware of a creeping numb feeling settling over her body. 

Pressing her head against the pillow, she felt a tear trickling from her eye and puddling in the hollow on the bridge of her nose a moment before sickened sleep caught up with her.

***

"Is she awake, Poppy?"

Staring blankly at the ceiling above her bed, Hermione felt a sick sweep of humiliation pass over her at the sound of the Head Master's voice, crossing her arms up over her chest, her fingers biting painfully into her shoulders.

She had woken from somewhere between sleep and unconsciousness, reeling and nauseous, a few minutes earlier, to find the Hogwarts Matron standing over her, a cool flannel draped over her forehead.

Sitting up with Madam Pomfrey's help, she raised her knees up under the blankets, hugging them to her chest tightly.

She hadn't been treated with anything more than a pain-killing potion, although she could see that Madam Pomfrey was longing to check her over, anxiety and concern etched on her face.

"Yes, Head Master."

The curtains around the bed were parted and the Head Master and Deputy Head Mistress both followed the matron in. Hermione didn't look up, although her hands gripped tighter onto her upraised legs and she blinked harder.

A fourth figure entered silently a few short seconds after the first two teachers, approaching and standing just behind the Head Master, a grim look on his pale, sallow face. 

"Miss Granger?" Professor McGongall spoke, concern in her tone. 

Unable to find her voice, Hermione shook her head, lowering her face and pressing her forehead against her knees.

"Miss Granger," the Head Master said softly. "Under any other circumstance, I would leave you to rest, but I am afraid that it has been brought to our notice that you are... not yourself and have not been for much of the term." 

"Professor Dumbledore is right, Miss Granger," McGonagall added anxiously. "You have been to Poppy more times this term than in your previous six years at the school, your grades have fallen to the lowest in the class, your friends are..." Hermione lifted her eyes to her House Mistress. "They were very concerned about you."

"What Professor McGonagall is trying to say, Miss Granger" Dumbledore said gently. "Is do you have anything that you would like to talk to us about?"

She shook her head again, a choked whimper escaping her. 

One of the Head Master's hands gently touched her shoulder and she flinched. The hand was instantly withdrawn and she looked up cautiously to find blue eyes staring down at her with deep concern.

"Tell them..." her voice sounded strangled in her ears. "T-t-tell them."

"Tell who what, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked kindly.

Professor Snape stepped forward, his arms folded over his chest. "I believe Miss Granger was referring to me, Head Master," he said coolly, giving her a look that would have frozen flame.

"Severus?"

"I found Miss Granger to have ingested a potion of her own making," the Potions Master answered, his look of contempt never wavering. "She had stolen supplies from my private store and had brewed a Terminalus potion, which she drank a little of. Not enough to be sufficient to fulfil its purpose, but enough to make herself violently ill."

"Terminalus?" 

Snape's expression was ugly with distaste. "I'm afraid that the esteemed Miss Granger found herself to be pregnant and changed her mind about aborting the infant at the last moment."

What colour had been in McGonagall's face immediately drained from it, her lips parting in a silent exclamation of shocked horror, while the Head Master's blue eyes closed in an expression that looked close to pain. 

Madam Pomfrey's eyes widened and she looked from Hermione to Snape and back again. "Is...is this true, Miss Granger?" she asked.

Hermione lowered her face again, her chin resting against her knees, as silent, hot tears ran from her eyes.

"Does...does Mr Weasley know?"

Hermione flinched as if she had been slapped. "It's not his," she whispered, so softly that she could barely even hear her own words, but she heard two gasps. Without lifting her face, her eyes rose to the four faces above her.

It was a fair question, she knew.

After all, she and Ron were, or at least had been, one of the more famed couples in Hogwarts.

Professor McGonagall's already white face had taken a greyish hue, her lips pressing together into a thin line. Madam Pomfrey looked equally stunned, her expression one of confusion, her eyes flicking to McGonagall in silent question.

Even Professor Snape looked shocked. He had taken a step back from the side of the bed, his hands bunched in fists by his sides. His lips were pressed together as thinly as the Deputy Head Mistress'.

Professor Dumbledore slowly opened his eyes and looked down at her. There was no condemnation in his blue eyes, although she could see disappointment so deep that made her wish the floor would open up and swallow her whole. 

"Would you mind telling us who the father is?" he asked quietly.

"N-no...please..."

"Miss Granger, we must know," he sat down on the edge of the bed, studying her gravely and she felt humiliation burning fiercely in her cheeks. 

She had told no one, had been unable to tell anyone else. 

No one but Lavender, Parvati and Crookshanks knew about what Lucius Malfoy had done, the man who had decided to use her and shame her and leave her feeling worth less than a piece of rubbish.

Even then, Lavender had only found out by chance and relayed the news onto the only other person who knew what had happened.

Now to be faced with the Head Master, his deputy, the Potions teacher she feared...

What if they condemned her for what had happened? What if they saw the filthy slut in her that Malfoy had seen? What if they could see why she had been treated the way she had by him?

"Please..." she whispered, shaking her head, staring wildly at him. Her eyes felt like they were about to burst into flame, flooded to overflowing with hot tears. "Please... don't ask me that...please..."

One of Professor Dumbledore's aged hands came up and gently overlaid hers, which was gripping her right calf tightly. His touch was strangely calming. "Miss Granger, what you tell us will go no further than our ears. We are only here to help you."

"I-I...I know," she replied unsteadily.

"Will you tell us?"

"But...I-I...please don't be angry...please..." She felt like a child, a frightened little child begging not to be lectured. "Please...it...you don't understand...I-I-I couldn't tell anyone else..."

She saw a look pass between Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey and it felt like the icy hand she had been awaiting locked around her heart and squeezed, making her gasp with the pain of it.

What if they had guessed?

What if they thought it was all her fault?

"Miss Granger...Hermione," Dumbledore said. His voice was warm, like a blanket enfolding her and making the sickening cold feeling that was spreading through her fade a little. Not completely, but enough. "Please, you must tell us."

Looking up timidly at him, she nodded, shakily trying to form the words.

Her eyes went back to the foot of the bed and she swallowed several times, a shiver running through her body.

When her voice slipped passed her lips, it was tiny.

"Malfoy."

Snape uttered a soft curse.

Professor McGongall's gasp of astonishment seemed deafening. "Miss Granger...I never imagined...Draco Malfoy..."

"N-no, P-Professor," Hermione stammered, swallowing hard. "L-L-Lucius Malfoy."

There.

She had said it.

The silence of the four adults standing over her was terrifying. She could hear every frenzied pounding thump of her heart in her ears and reluctantly lifted her eyes from the end of the bed.

Professor Dumbledore's face seemed to have been drawn tight with fury, his eyes flashing with an emotion she had seldom seen in them before. His hand on hers gently squeezed her fingers, comfortingly.

Standing just behind him, Professor McGonagall's hand was pressed against her mouth and she was shaking her head slowly, as if she couldn't believe what she had just been told. Madam Pomfrey looked equally horrified.

Snape looked like he had just received a punch to the gut and staggered back several paces, shaking his head. His face had gone a sick yellow-grey, one hand convulsively clawing at the high collar of his robes.

They understood now.

"Oh, Miss Granger..." Professor McGonagall whispered. "Albus...how...how is..."

The Head Master raised a hand stilling McGonagall's questions.

"When did this happen, Hermione?" Professor Dumbledore's voice was gentle and calm, with only the slightest tremor that betrayed the outrage and fury she could feel radiating out from him.

Forcing down a sob, Hermione stared at a crease in the blankets over her knees. 

"It-it was at the Leaky Cauldron," she whispered, her knuckles whitening as she gripped her calves through the blanket. "J-just before term started. He-he just came... into my room...I told him to leave...he-he didn't."

Dumbledore lowered his head, closing his eyes. "You told no one?"

"I-I-I told Crookshanks," she mumbled defensively. "But...he already knew about it. And Lavender... she... she knows...and Parvati...not who it was...but they know what happened... I-I-I made them forget the baby..."

"Harry and Ronald do not know?" She shook her head. 

"I-I couldn't tell them," she said. Her voice sounded horribly reedy and thin in her own ears. "I-I-I couldn't...they...they're my best friends and I-I-I couldn't tell them... I-I-I didn't want to upset them..." 

"You ought to have informed us, Hermione," Madam Pomfrey's voice was shaking.

Shaking her head, Hermione whispered, "I couldn't...I-I...it was my fault...it must have been...I-I must have done something...wrong...something bad...why else would he have picked me?"

Tears were spilling uncontrollably down her white face and she was trembling.

"Oh, Hermione," The grief and pity in the Head Master's voice were palpable. "You did nothing to deserve this. No woman ever deserves such a fate."

"But I...why me...why me if I didn't ask for it? What did I do?" she asked in a plaintive whisper. "I must have done something...something terrible to make him make me feel so...so horrible..."

To her surprise and shock, Dumbledore did something that she had never imagined any of the teaching staff to do. 

He leaned in and gathered her in his arms, holding her in a way that her grandfather might have, warm and reassuring. He even smelled a little like her grandfather, a woody scent, old and familiar, that reminded her of visiting her relatives and of fun she had had as a child, although he also had the scent of magic on him.

"You did nothing wrong," he said softly. "Believe me, Hermione. You did nothing."

Burying her face in his thick robes, she allowed the sobs to come. Her body felt like it was going to tear in two with the force of her cries, her lungs burning as she gulped in deep breaths.

She could feel the Head Master's hand soothingly stroking through her hair as he let her weep, also aware of the whispering passing between the matron and the deputy Head Mistress. 

Snape was deadly silent.

"Albus, there are others involved in this..." Professor McGonagall's voice was low, but Hermione still heard every word. "Potter and Weasley...they may have had a few problems lately, but this must be explained..."

She felt the Head master nod, his beard rippling against her cheek.

"Hermione," Dumbledore said gently, still holding her in the security of his arms, her face pressed deep into his warm robes. "Would you like us to inform Harry and Ronald of the situation?"

Hermione went rigid.

"I-I don't know..."

"Head Master," Snape's voice cut in, a little unsteady. "I-I'm afraid it may be a little late for that. After Miss Granger made known her condition to me, I found Weasley to inquire as to his position on the situation."

"No..." Hermione gasped, a rushing wave of nauseous sweeping through her. "Oh no... he can't know...not Ron..." Her face pressing into her hands, she started to sob again. "No...no...no..."

Dumbledore's beard shifted and she assumed absently that he must have raised his head. "Minerva," he said, his voice serious. "Go and find Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. Have them both come here, if possible."

She heard the House Mistress hurry away.

"Poppy, do you have any chocolate?"

"Yes, Head Master."

"Severus, I would suggest that you leave for the moment."

There was a long pause, then Hermione was startled to hear the Potions Professor speak to her. "Miss Granger," It was a tone of voice that she had never heard in him before. "I-I am truly sorry."

His footfalls trailed into silence, leaving her held against Dumbledore's chest as she continued to weep softly.

***

"Hermione?"

"Harry," Professor Dumbledore answered for her. She was sitting up in the bed, staring blankly down at her hands, which were resting limply in her lap, her eyes blood-shot and red. "Would you mind coming here?"

She had been plied with chocolate as a soothing mechanism. 

All it had done was make her mouth feel sticky and taste bitter, as she cried herself dry of painful tears.

Half an hour had passed since Professor McGonagall had left the hospital wing and Harry had arrived on his own, wearing his Quidditch robes, apparently freshly arrived from practising on his broom, his favourite pass-time.

"Hermione, what's going on?" Approaching the bed, the dark-haired boy took the spot that Dumbledore had just vacated, catching one of her hands in his. "I just had McGonagall call me down from practise and Ron..." The way he said the name was with a touch of sadness edged with anger. "He took off earlier..."

Her eyes rose from her hands. Her throat was tight, painfully so. "It's bad, Harry..."

She didn't get a chance to say more, her friend leaning forward and wrapping his arms around her tightly. He didn't need her to go on to know that something serious had happened and she was grateful for a moment's reprieve from having to tell her story again.

Her chin resting on his shoulder, she pressed her eyes closed tightly, drawing a shaking breath and taking in the familiar, down-to-earth scent of Harry. Smelling of fresh-air, outdoors and energy, he had the most cheering smell she knew.

Wrapping her arms around Harry's chest and gripping onto the rough material of his Quidditch robes, Hermione felt two fat tears squeeze out from beneath her tightly shut lids, her throat burning as she tried to push down another wave.

"What happened, Hermione?" His voice was a hot breath on the back of her neck, his arms still wrapped around her in a protective mantle.

"I-I-I'm pregnant."

There was a silence only broken by the rhythmic thumping in her ears.

It felt like forever had passed in a heartbeat.

"Who did it?" He drew back from her, his expression dark with anger. His leather-gloved hands came up to frame her burning face gently. "Who was the bastard who touched you? I'll kill him..."

Dumbledore made a sound of surprise, causing Hermione's eyes to dart to him, the back to Harry's face. Apparently, she was not the only one to be surprised that Harry knew she was not carrying a child by choice. 

"Y-you don't think I cheated on Ron?"

"Hermione, I know you," Pressing his forehead lightly against hers, he stared into her eyes. "I know you and I know Ron and I know how much you two love each other and you...who was it?"

Lowering her eyes, Harry's rough fingertips still touching her cheeks, she drew a shaking breath. "L-L-Lucius M-Malfoy."

Harry's eyes closed in anguish. "I should have known..." His eyes opened, locking on her face again. "Are you all right? I mean, I know you're not all right that way, but you...oh God, Hermione..." She was pulled into another hug. "I'm so sorry."

Unable to reply or even form a word, she buried her face in his neck, tears burning down her white cheeks. 

It was several minutes before she could manage to get the words out to ask him the question she had needed answered, ever since the moment that Snape had revealed what he had said to Ron.

"H-Harry, where's Ron?"

"I...I'm not sure, Hermione."

"He..." She clung to Harry a little harder. "He knows, doesn't he? He...he still thinks I saw someone else..."

She felt Harry's lips press against her forehead, then his cheek against the top of her tangled hair. "He's confused, Hermione," he replied carefully. "It...if he was told by someone else...he might still believe I...you and I..."

"Professor Snape believed Ronald to be the father and approached him about it without first consulting me," Professor Dumbledore said gravely. "I am afraid I should have interceded sooner."

"And now, Ron's disappeared, so we can't even tell him..."

Hermione's face contorted in pain. "I...how can he think I would betray him?" she asked bleakly. "And you...we wouldn't...can't he see that..."

"Well," Harry shifted a little. "You have been kind of...distant since we met up with you at the Leaky Cauldron..." Brown eyes stared up at him bleakly. "And that's why, isn't it? That's why you said you were ill..." She nodded. "When?"

"The night before you arrived," she whispered.

"And when we met the Malfoys in Diagon Alley that day..." Hermione looked away sharply, blinking hard. Harry's face darkened, his eyes flashing with rage. "I'm going to kill that evil son of a bitch. I'm going to kill him myself. By hand. In as painful a way as I can think of."

"And it is a very nice day," Dumbledore said, gazing pointedly out of the window above the bed. "Can't imagine having weather like this every Christmas...what was that you were saying, Harry?"

Drawing a slow breath, Harry's hands were balled into fists as he drew back from Hermione and looked at the Head Master. "May I ask a favour?" Dumbledore inclined his head. "May I have a note of permission to punch Professor Snape in the face for being an interfering prat?"

"Harry..."

"Hermione, it's his fault that Ron has gone."

She turned her eyes back to his. "I was just going to say hit him extra hard for me."

"If I break his nose, I won't apologise for it," he promised, turning to the Head Master. "Sir, may I have a note with your permission?"

"Harry…"

Harry's eyes flashed. "I'm going to do it anyway, sir," he said grimly. "It would just be a lot easier with your permission."


	8. Chapter Eight

It wasn't as unbearable as she had assumed it would be.

Yes, Madam Pomfrey was treating her as if she were made of glass, but she didn't look like she wanted to spit on Hermione for being filthy and corrupted, which was a definite plus.

Professor Dumbledore had hurried out of the wing shortly after Harry had appeared, to contact someone at the Ministry, while Professor McGonagall had apparently gone to send word to Hermione's parents.

Due to the circumstances, both Professors had thought it best that the Head Girl's parents were informed of the situation and Hermione had been unable to find the energy or desire to argue with them.

After all, it was more than just being attacked.

There was now the issue of the baby that she had been unable to get rid of, the child that was growing in her teenage body. 

She was barely even seventeen and she was still carrying the child of a known Dark Wizard, something that - under any other circumstances - would have made her want to scream and throw things at the thought of it.

However, not now.

Lying in the bed, having been plied with potions, Hermione stared up at the arched ceiling. The light reflected by the lake rippled in dancing patterns, strangely soothing and pretty to watch.

Distracting, too.

Thick, warm blankets had been tucked up to her chest, her hands spread on her stomach. The physical pain she had initially felt had receded to a dull ache, eventually, and she was trying to rest now. 

Rest.

Such a simple word.

For nearly an hour and a half, after Harry had left her to go and - allegedly - bash Snape, she had been trying to work out what could drive Ron to believing that she would ever willingly cheat on him.

Madam Pomfrey had insisted that she rest, but the thoughts continued to pour in on her, making her toss and turn until she was given a relaxant potion, which had reduced her body to a boneless mass on the bed.

She felt strangely... empty, now. 

Vague, as if separated from the rest of reality by a comfortable, soft and safe cloud of magic, the only thing that seemed important, those swirls of off-white light playing across the ceiling in ripples.

Tapping the tips of her index fingers together over her sternum, a drowsy, weary half-smile on her lips, her heavy eyes kept drooping closed, as if trying to convince her of her need to sleep.

Everything felt so... peaceful.

Madam Pomfrey approached the bed again, touching Hermione's arm gently. The Head Girl squinted up at her. "We've got a potion to help you sleep, Miss Granger," she said softly. 

"Mmm," Hermione acknowledged dreamily.

Helped into a semi-sitting position by the school matron, she managed to swallow a couple of mouthfuls of the sweet, thick potion that tasted strangely like a combination of liquorice and chocolate.

"What... what is it?"

"A combined variation of dreamless sleep, restful sleep and standard sleeping potion, so it should provide you with the rest you need," Madam Pomfrey answered gently, stroking a stray hair back behind her ear. "However, should we need to wake you...."

"Wake... me..." Hermione's world was already blurring into darkness around the edges, as the potions took affect on her, wrapping her up in a cosy and protective blanket of sleep.

Madam Pomfrey's lips moved in a response, but Hermione couldn't hear it.

Sleep closed in on her.

***

"I wanna see her!"

"Mister Weasley, I hardly think you're in a condition to see anyone!"

The fuzzy voices were the first things that the young witch heard, as she drifted out of her potion-induced sleep, Ron's voice oddly slurred, while Madam Pomfrey sounded both concerned and agitated.

Forcing eyelids that felt weighted open, Hermione blinked in the light, squinting to try and take in her surroundings. The rest of her body was still pleasantly numb and her mind seemed to be the only thing in full working order.

Curtains had been drawn shut around her bed, the daylight through the windows on the other side casting the skewed silhouettes of a tall, gangly figure and the short, plump matron against the fabric.

Ron.

Hermione's heart jumped violently against her sternum, her hands - suddenly icy - fisting into the blankets over her body. She wasn't ready to face him, not yet, not without Dumbledore and Harry there to reassure her.

Apparently, he wasn't in the mood for listening to the Matron which definitely didn't bode well for her.

"I just wanna talk to her!"

Hermione could see the taller figure trying to reach for the drapes and being blocked by the smaller one.

"Mister Weasley!" Madam Pomfrey barked, her voice hard and authoritative as an army General's. "This is my infirmary and when my patients are sleeping, I have every right to let them rest! Miss Granger has had a traumatic day and I do not need you compounding the situation, by marching in there, drunk!"

Hermione's brow furrowed. Ron? Drunk? Oh Merlin...

"But I... I just wanna talk to her..." He sounded like he was on the verge of breaking down, his voice shaking wildly. "I-I-I didn't want to believe them... what they were saying about her... but it must be true...mustn't it? I mean, if she's pregnant and it's not mine... I-I didn't want to believe them..."

Bitter sickness spread through her body, one hand pressing against the swell of her stomach defensively. Through the curtains, Hermione saw his silhouette grab at one of Madam Pomfrey's arms, his tall form swaying unsteadily. 

"She... is she...you know? I mean... with a baby?"

Madam Pomfrey negotiated Ron's arm off hers and took his arm with a skill that spoke of years of experience. "Mister Weasley, perhaps we ought to discuss this when you're a little more sober."

"Bugger sober!" Ron croaked, his voice cracking. "Please... I need... that is... just tell me... is she... is she pregnant? Was that greasy git telling the truth?"

"Mister Weasley!"

Ron fell silent for a long moment, then spoke again, quietly, subdued. "I just wanna know what I did wrong... why she hates me... how could she do this to me? I didn't believe she would... I didn't... but everybody... they kept saying... saying stuff... 'Look Weasley... your girlfriend's snuggling up with Potter again... famous Harry Potter... your best mate, innie? Maybe she finally thought famous and rich was better than poor and red-haired...'"

Behind the curtain, Hermione pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes stinging. Her heart was thumping so hard against her ribs, she was amazed that Ron and Madam Pomfrey couldn't hear it.

Someone had been playing a corrupting Iago to Ron's helpless Othello, leaving her as the reluctant and oblivious Desdemona.

"You know," he waved a finger vaguely in Madam Pomfrey's direction, while she tried to grasp his arms again and steer him away. "It was just him at first... Malfoy... bloody Ferret..." Ah, that explained a great deal. "I didn't believe him. Not him. How would he know what Hermione was like, eh? Am I right?"

"Of course, Mister Weasley, but now, perhaps you should sit down..."

"And then," Ron ignored her with a mournful sigh. "Then Dean... and Seamus... and everyone heard about it... they started asking why... I mean, they thought I'd buggered up something awful to make her... you know... but I didn't want to believe them... and then... then, I tried to hug her and she kept running off... she ran away from me..."

Shifting onto her side, Hermione hugged her arms up against her chest, chewing on her thumbnail. Her eyes were closed in pained understanding as Ron continued to mumble, half-incoherently.

"I got angry..." He laughed weakly. "Do that a lot, y'know... mum blames the hair. Can't have red hair without having a temper, she says. Always blowing our tops over little things... but then Malfoy scared her... she went to Harry... not me... I was ready to punch Malfoy in the gob... and she went to Harry... hugged him... all of them saw it... I heard them say something... 'Right in front of you, Ron... some bloody friend he is'... I-I got so bloody angry... I-I-I dunno why... they used to hug all the time, but everyone... they kept saying stuff...I-I-I bashed him... my best mate..."

"I'm sure it was a perfectly reasonable reaction, Mister Weasley," Madam Pomfrey looked like she was still trying to haul him away from the curtain, but her small frame was worth nothing against Ron's large, lean body.

"But it wasn't! I hit him! Smacked him in the chops. And the pillock knows how bad I am at saying I'm sorry and he doesn't get it and now..." There was a rough laugh, that was devoid of mirth. "Now I think I've gone a buggered everything right up and I... I just want to know what's going on."

"Mister Weasley..."

"I-I just want to know... if she is... and if he's not..." There was a pitiful hiccough from the other side of the curtains and Hermione bit on her lower lip. "Have I just gone and lost my best mate cos I'm a bloody great idiot?"

"I think you will have to discuss this with Mister Potter, when you are a little more sober, Mister Weasley," Madam Pomfrey said. She sounded like she was running short on patience. "Perhaps, you should go and lie down for a short time."

"I can do that," Ron agreed, slapping her on the back in a grateful fashion. The Matron made an indignant sound. "I'll... I'll go to the common room... get some kip... then I'll...I'll come back and see Hermione... and if she was shagging Harry, I'll bash his face in."

"Mister Weasley, you shall do no such thing! Mister Potter would never touch Miss Granger and you know it!"

"Yeah," Ron retorted, his voice rising, the gloomy tone replaced with anger. "And girls don't get pregnant by not touching their boyfriends! I'm not bloody thick in the head! I know the whole stork thing is a bloody great big lie! If she's done something with someone else..."

"Mister Weasley, I think you should depart before you say something you regret."

There was a long silence. "There's only one thing I regret," he muttered, his voice so melancholy that Hermione wished she had the energy and emotional strength to go to him and hug him. "And that's not knowing how to make her happy enough to stay with me."

Another moment of silence fell, then she heard footsteps walking away, shuffling slightly on the polished floor of the infirmary wing.

Several seconds later, the pale curtain around Hermione's bed was drawn back and Madam Pomfrey looked in, clearly unsurprised to see that Hermione was both awake and aware.

"You heard what Mister Weasley had to say?"

Hermione nodded.

"Would... would you like to talk to him?"

Swallowing hard, a prickle of heat dancing across her spine, she shook her head. "I don't think I can," she whispered. "Not yet... and not when he's in that kind of state... he's temperamental enough when he's sober. I-I-I don't think I could face him angry when he's drunk."

"You've seen him drunk before?"

Hermione lowered her eyes. "A little tipsy, once... we all were...Fred and George's eighteenth birthday in the summer... he picked a fight with a table," A half-smile crossed her lips at the memory. "The table won." She looked up again. "He... he has mood swings... bad ones... he's not safe to himself or anyone else when he's in that kind of state."

"I had better let the Head Master know." Madam Pomfrey sighed. "We can't let him run around the school in that state. He might get himself into trouble, which certainly wouldn't help with things the way they are at present."

"Can... can you make sure he's all right?" Madam Pomfrey gave her a curious look and Hermione looked down at her blanket, picking at a loose thread. "I don't want him to get hurt any more."

The Matron nodded, slipping out between the curtains.

Curling in a ball on her side, Hermione tucked an arm under her head and stared blindly at the side of the small dressing table beside the bed. 

The soothing, warming effect of the relaxant potion was starting to wear off, leaving her to face cold reality again and she could clearly remember every word that Ron had just said about her.

Suddenly his reactions, his behaviour made so much sense.

He'd always had competition in his family, for everything. 

He had always been forced to unwillingly compete against his five brothers, trying to surpass their achievement with his own, to earn some kind of acknowledgement that didn't just come from being 'the famous Harry Potter's' friend.

If he wanted something - or someone - that was just his, he was still trapped by the idea that there would always be someone else who would be better, brighter, stronger and more able to steal that special something away from him.

Even if he didn't want to suspect it, his natural suspicion was in-built, a knee-jerk reaction to everything, because he was simply so used to having to struggle for approval in the wake of his siblings.

Hermione could admit that she didn't understand it, being an only child, and she knew that Harry would be in the same situation. Neither of them had considered it because they always thought that having brothers and sisters would be a good thing.

They always forgot how put-down Ron always felt, surrounded by those who were smarter than he was, better at Quidditch than he was, funnier than he was, generally everything that he felt he wasn't.

He was everything that they were and more, Hermione knew. He was funny, sweet, gentle, tender, brave and so many other things that his brothers couldn't match, all the things that made him perfectly Ron.

Only, his insecurities about himself...

Despite being from one of the most loving families that either she or Harry had ever met, Ron's self-esteem was almost always rock-bottom, thanks to comparisons to his big brothers, who were so successful, talented, funny and so on.

It definitely cast a new light on the current situation and Hermione wished more than anything that she had the courage to face him, to explain everything and then hope he would understand.

Closing her eyes, Hermione pulled the blanket up to her chin, remembering the last time that Ron had wrapped her up in his long arms and told her that everything would sort itself out and be all right.

How she needed him to tell her that now.

In spite of everything, he was the one she wanted to have beside her, comforting her and reassuring her, muttering all kinds of nasty things that he wanted to do to Malfoy, when he got his hands on the wizard.

Unfortunately, she knew, that was the one thing she couldn't have.

Not until she was able to find the courage to explain everything that had happened and until she was able to make Ron understand and, perhaps, accept it.

Otherwise, it was going to take some time to get used to life without him by her side.

***

It might have been minutes or it might have been hours until she next opened her eyes, half-hoping that Ron would be sitting there, by the bed, waiting for her to wake up, smiling that familiar smile.

Green eyes gazed down at her, a rough hand closing over one of hers. "All right?"

Despite the sting of pained disappointment that there was no sign of Ron awaiting her, she nodded. "I-I've rested a little," she replied quietly. "I... I feel a little better than I did, earlier."

"Not really surprising, though," Harry murmured, squeezing her fingers gently. "But you aren't one hundred percent..."

Hermione knew she didn't have to reply. He knew her so well, after so many years, recognised every nuance of her every mood. A weak smile lifted on side of her mouth, his gentle, familiar half-smile warming her and she struggled to sit up. 

Immediately, Harry seemed to sense what she needed, rising from the seat and sitting on the edge of the bed. Her arms wrapped around his neck and he gathered her close to him, holding her tightly.

"You'll be all right, Hermione," he whispered, one hand stroking her tangled hair as she clung to him. She nodded against his shoulder, her fingers biting into his back, no tears left to fall. "We're all going to help you get through this."

"Pr-promise?" She wondered why her voice was suddenly shaking so hard, her cheek pressing so tightly against his bony shoulder that she was sure she could feel a bruise forming already.

She felt his lips rise in a smile against her forehead. "Don't you forget," he muttered, looking down at her. "I'm the Boy Who Lived and all around super duper hero kind of person. Whatever I say, I mean."

Unable to smother a laugh, she shook her head. "Of course," she replied, drawing a slow breath. "You're just so perfect."

"Naturally," he retorted gently, rocking her slowly from side to side. "Do... do you want to talk about it? About what happened?" Hermione stiffened. It felt like her blood had been replaced with a burning rush of sulphur. "You don't need to, if you don't want to," Harry added quickly. "I just thought... well... I... Hermione, I know what it's like to be..." She felt a hot breath against her forehead. "I-I-I've never told anyone this, but the Dursleys... I was only a little kid... I was too small to fight them. I know what it's like to be scared and to want to keep it all a secret...to be scared what other people would think of me..."

Hermione's brow furrowed. What was this? "Harry?"

Green eyes that had always seemed so much older than they should have met hers and Harry sighed. 

"It's nothing compared to what you went through," he said quietly. "But before I came here, they could do whatever they wanted to me. No one knew about it and there was no one to stop them. Sometimes, I..." He face tightened in pain. "Sometimes, I got hit. Other times, locked in the cupboard under the stairs, usually in the dark. I..." He laughed, a tight, strained sound that reminded Hermione too much of her own laughter of late. "I learned not to cry. I had to and I had to learn quickly. It didn't help to cry or make a fuss. It didn't stop them doing it. Ever since I can remember it was the same. If it wasn't Uncle Vernon, it was Aunt Petunia or Dudley. They hated me and they didn't mind showing me just how... warm those feelings were to me."

"Oh God... Harry..."

A weak smile was directed at her from a face that was as pale as her own one. 

"It's nothing, compared to what you went through," he said softly, his arms still around her. "I...I don't know if it'll help, but I know... I can understand why you wouldn't tell us. It's a self-defence mechanism. I... that was why I never told anyone what it was like at the Dursleys. I said it was bad, but no one ever knew just how bad it could be."

"You... you didn't want people thinking you were weak..."

"And that you couldn't defend yourself..." Harry nodded slowly. "If you couldn't defend yourself against those kind of people, if you could get hurt so badly by such hideous people, what did that make you?"

"You feel useless," she agreed.

"Used."

"Pathetic."

"Worthless."

"Disgusting."

Looking her in the eyes, he said, "Damaged goods."

Hermione felt a rush of emotion, part pain at knowing that Harry had been through Hell before Hogwarts, but also part relief in knowing that someone else could understand, that someone else could see what it was like, to know how it felt to be holding such a painful secret inside.

And survive to stand as proud and tall as Harry did.

Clinging to him, she squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her lips together. His hand was still lightly moving on her hair, his other arm around her body, as he continued to soothingly rock her.

"Does... does it get easier?" she asked after several minutes of silence.

Harry sighed, resting his cheek against the top of her head. "I can't lie to you and say that everything'll be perfect, Hermione. It's hard. Very hard. And it takes time," he replied seriously. "But you're strong. I know it and you know it. You'll survive. We both will. That's what life is. Surviving."

"That's optimistic," she muttered sarcastically.

"That's life."

Opening her eyes, Hermione looked up at him. "You know so much," she murmured, studying him. "I mean, you understand things that no one else can. You see things in ways that other people wouldn't."

"Are you saying I think strangely?"

"No!"

Harry gave her a lop-sided half-smile. "Call it the experience talking," he suggested modestly. "I've been through a lot, so I didn't really have a choice. I had to pick up a thing or two about life. If I didn't... well, I'd probably not have lasted this long."

"I'm glad you did," she said, trying to smile, but the muscles in her cheeks refused to respond. "I-I don't know what I would do if I didn't have you to talk to now."

"You would be able to talk to Dumble..."

Hermione shook her head, laying her head against his shoulder, her hands bunching into the back of his jumper. "No..." she replied. "I could tell him what happened and he... he would nod and look sympathetic, but he wouldn't be able to understand."

Harry nodded, his chin coming to rest on top of her head. "I'll have to remember to thank the Dursleys for that," he said, a mock-serious tone in his voice.

"Harry..."

"I know, I know. I shouldn't joke about it, but you..." he exhaled a long breath, rubbing his cheek against the top of her head. "You're the first person who I've actually told and it... it feels... it's a relief to have it out in the open now."

"I-I have to admit I-I-I feel the same. I just wish..."

"That Ron knew?"

Lowering her head, Hermione nodded, her stomach twisting at the mention of his name. "I... he was in here earlier. Drunk."

"Yeah. I heard about that," Harry winced. "I was going to go to Snape, but I thought I'd see if I could find Ron first. He wasn't on the Marauder's map, so I guessed that he went off-grounds and then Dumbledore found me, on my way to Snape... he said Madam Rosmerta had sent him an urgent owl and that we had to get to Hogsmeade right away. He had apparently been able to get a bottle of firewhisky, although no one knows how, and had almost finished the lot."

"Oh dear..."

"You could say that," Harry agreed quietly. "We got there just too late and I think he must have been using one of the secret passages. By the time we got back, Madam Pomfrey had just delivered him to the common room."

"Have... did you speak to him?"

Harry shook his head, an apologetic expression on his face. "He was still out of it, last time I looked. I don't think I'd be the best person to talk to him now, not if he's still so upset."

"I want to talk to him... but he won't understand, Harry. He... he's not like us."

Like us.

Those two little words had such a reassuring, unifying ring to them that Hermione could feel it. She knew Harry felt the strengthened connection they had too, his arms tightening around her. 

"We should tell him together, explain everything."

"We should," she agreed. "I-I don't want to lie to him anymore."

"Lie to me about what?" 

Harry and Hermione jerked apart with a gasp, both looking around at Ron, who was standing at the foot of the bed. His expression was neutral, his arms crossed over his chest, only his eyes giving away the hurt that Hermione could sense in him.

"Ron..."

Ron's lips spread in a cold, emotionless smile that showed no teeth. "Hermione."

Just the way he said her name made her go cold to the bone, the emptiness, the cold, harsh pronunciation, so different from the way he used to speak to her, the way he spoke normally.

"Ron, we need to talk."

"Yeah, Harry, we do," the tall, red-haired youth took a step forward. "But first, I want to know something."

"Wh-what?" Hermione asked, her pulse accelerating. He would ask, he would get the answer he expected and he wouldn't leave room for explanations, yet now that she had the chance to blurt it out, the words caught in her throat.

"Are you?"

"A-a-am I what?"

"You know," he replied, his face paler than usual, his freckles nearly neon bright against his grey-white skin. He looked awful, but his dark brown eyes were clear and his expression determined. "Pregnant."

The way he said that one word was like a slap and Hermione recoiled.

"Well?"

"Hermione," Harry hissed urgently. "You have to explain."

Pushing her hands into her hair, her fists tangling in the knotted mass, she shook her head. It felt like a giant hand was rhythmically contracting around her stomach. "I-I can't..." she whispered. "I can't do this... I can't... not yet... please, Ron... please..." 

"Hermione," Harry's voice grew stronger. "You have to..."

"No... no, I can't..."

"Can't what?" Ron demanded sharply, his angry, cold tone suddenly replaced with something that sounded close to fear and concern. "Hermione?" Shoving Harry out of the way, the red-haired boy sat down on the edge of the bed. "Hermione?"

Clumps of hair tearing free in her hands, her knees pulled up to her chest, Hermione shook her head, pressing her eyes shut. "Don't ask me... don't... please, Ron..." she whispered desperately. "Please..."

Ron flashed a look up at Harry. "What's going on?"

"I...it's not my place to tell you," Harry replied quietly.

Pushing a hand through his hair, Ron exhaled an angry huff. "Look, I just want to know what the hell is going on around here. I feel like I'm the only person left in the dark! Even Snape knows more than I do!"

Hermione forced herself to lift her face to his. She could feel the colour drawing from her cheeks, leaving her whiter than before, her throat thick with mucus. "I want to tell you, Ron... I...I don't want you to hate me..."

"So it's true..."

Looking back down at her fists, that were pressed against each other in front of her chest, she slowly nodded. "But... it-it's complicated..."

"What's complicated?" he demanded angrily. Grabbing her chin, he lifted her face to stare at her. His eyes locked and she saw the moment the emotions in her eyes hit him. His expression changed, a thread of confusion in his features. "Hermione?"

Slowly wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, one hand pushing against the light swell of her stomach to try and force down the nausea that she was feeling, she tried to steady her breathing and bring the room back into focus.

She felt dizzy and sick, but he had to be told. He had to know.

A large, warm hand enclosed one of hers, which was ice-cold and shaking, and the heat of her body escalated even further. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to look up at him.

"I-I am pregnant, R-Ron," she said, her voice shaking. She held up a hand to silence the words he opened his mouth to say. "I..." Harry nodded reassuringly, sitting down on the other side of the bed and touching her blanket-covered knee comfortingly. "It... it's Lucius Malfoy's baby."

Ron stared at her.

It felt like every beat of her heart was an eternity.

His reaction, though, when it came, stunned them both.

Shaking his head, he started to laugh, softly at first, then increasingly loudly.

"You... you honestly think I'm going to be stupid enough to fall for that?" he asked, surging to his feet and pointing down at them. "I know Malfoy. Malfoy wouldn't touch you, so don't use that bloody excuse!"

"It's not an excuse, Ron!"

"He hates muggles and muggle-borns, Hermione! I'm not thick! I know he wouldn't touch you! If you don't want me to know who the father is, then fine! I thought we had something special, but if you..." Pressing the heel of his right hand to his forehead, he drew a shaking breath, pointing from one to the other with a trembling left hand. "Fine... whatever. You can do what you like."

Hermione stared at him, as if the ground beneath her had just been pulled away to reveal a gaping void. She couldn't even form words to protest, her eyes prickling with the need for fresh tears.

She had never believed it was possible to feel a heart breaking, not until that moment and all she could do, as her heart was torn into tiny pieces, was sit there, staring at him and shaking her head.

"You bloody idiot!"

"Don't you start on me, Potter!" Ron snapped, his voice strained. He sounded like he was almost going to... cry?

"Aren't you even listening to anything she's said, you daft pillock?" Harry yelled back at him, also on his feet. His face was scarlet with anger. "Do you think Hermione would lie about something as serious as that?"

"Well... well, what am I meant to think?" Ron burst out, his voice shaking with emotion. "She... we... she's pregnant! She's pregnant and it can't be mine and she said we were still going out! She didn't even break up with me!"

Gripping her head between her hands, Hermione could feel her nails biting into her scalp, blood warm against her fingertips. Rocking back and forward, her breathing grew increasingly ragged. 

"Stop it..." she whispered over and over. "Stop it... stop it... stop it..."

Above her, it looked like Harry was ready to throw a punch in Ron's direction and Ron looked like he was considering the same course of action, both of them scowling at each other with rage in their eyes.

"Don't you think there's a good reason for that, you twit? Don't you think there's a reason she's been so bloody jumpy all year?"

"Stop it..."

"Yes! She thought I was going to catch her out with her other boyfriend!"

"Stop it... please, stop it..."

"Ron, listen to yourself! This is Hermione! Do you honestly think that she would cheat on you with another bloke?"

"Well, she's bloody pregnant, isn't she?"

"Please... stop... stop..."

"She said it's complicated, you divvy! Why don't you let her explain?"

"Stopstopstopstop..."

"Then explain, Potter!" Ron shouted, his voice broken and filled with despair. "Tell me! Tell the stupid Weasel just how she managed to get herself knocked up if she wasn't shagging someone else!"

"Stop it!" Unable to hold it in any longer, she cried out. "Stop this!" 

"Only if you tell me!" Ron countered.

"Tell you?" Sitting up, Hermione stared wildly at him. "You want to know? You really want to know? Okay, Ron, this is what happened...I was raped!" She half-laughed, a manic sound. "Okay? Was that clear enough for you? Lucius Malfoy raped me! In my room in the Leaky Cauldron! He raped me and left me pregnant!"

The whole infirmary wing was plunged into deathly silence.

Ron's already white face went several shades paler, laced with grey. "Hermione?"

Sinking back down, pressing the heels of her hands against her forehead, Hermione started shaking with quiet little sobs. "I wanted to tell you... you couldn't understand... no one understands..."

"I-I..."

Hermione felt arms around her, too short and muscular to be Ron's. Harry. He gently drew her closer, one leg behind her back, the other raised protectively in front of her as he hugged her close.

"You need some time to think," Harry said quietly, his voice directed at Ron, but his attention on Hermione. "You... you can come back when you're ready to deal with this. You're not ready."

"But I want to..."

"Ron," Harry's voice had a core of diamond. "Listen to me. I've been through the same kind of thing. She doesn't need you to try and make things up to her now, when you'll be spending all your time trying to sort through everything you've just been told. Go and think about it and when you understand..."

"Yeah..." Ron replied quietly, his voice shaking. "Yeah, I-I need to think."

Hermione didn't look up as she heard Ron slowly turn and walk away, her hands bunched in Harry's jumper as he held her, wrapped safely up in his arms and legs, shielded from the outside world by one of her best friends.

"You all right, Hermione?" he asked softly.

"I-I-I'll survive," she whispered back, before burying her face in his chest and letting him embrace her protectively, safe in his arms.


	9. Chapter Nine

Notes: Apologies for how long this chapter has taken. It was - by far - the hardest one to right and I only hope that it's not a disappointment to you lovely people who have been so patient with me. Plus, uni-work took priority as well, unfortunately. Icky.

_________________________________

Night had fallen on Hogwarts.

Hermione was still ensconced in the medical wing, gazing up at the arched ceiling high above her, her fingertips tracing distracted patterns on the thick, warm blanket that covered her body.

The whole room was filled with a pale, silvery wash of light from the moon, wisps of cloud occasionally passing before its face and casting flickering shadows into the long, narrow ward.

Shifting onto her side, the young witch curled her arm up, under her head, her other hand pulling the blankets up around her securely to stave off the wintery chill that hung on the air.

According to Professor McGonagall, her parents were travelling up to Hogsmeade from London by train the next morning and, while nervous about what she was going to say to them, she couldn't wait to see her mother and father.

If anyone would make her feel safe again, it would be her parents.

Beyond exhausted, she tried to let herself fall asleep, but every time her eyes closed, she saw Ron's face, the hurt, the shock, the pain... all the emotions she never wanted to cause him.

She wanted to hate him for not trusting her. He had claimed to believe that she would cheat on him with their best friend of all people and it should have been so easy to hate him, but she couldn't.

More than anything, she wanted him to just come back, wrap her up in his warm, familiar arms, hold her tightly and promise that he would never let anything bad ever happen to her again.

He knew what was going on now, which she knew should be seen as a good thing, but she couldn't help being petrified that it would be the final thing to drive them apart, the barricade erected between them by Malfoy.

There were a thousand reasons why it would push him even further away.

How was he meant to act around her, knowing that someone else had touched her in the most intimate ways possible? If he did touch her, how was he to know it wouldn't trigger a bad memory? What was he meant to do if she did react badly?

After all, his casual, friendly touches had sent her running from him all term and now that he knew why, he would know that a touch more intimate than the ones he had plied her with would probably initiate a more violent reaction.

How could he want to be involved with someone who might scream in terror every time he tried to embrace her?

That, she thought, was probably the reason that he hadn't been back to the wing in the hours since he had found out. He didn't know how to react and she didn't know how she would want him to react.

Turning back onto her back, Hermione stared at the ceiling, blinking hard. Her eyes were prickling again and she didn't want to give into the need to cry. The back of her throat was already burning.

All she wanted was the life that she had had before the term started: the life where she was happily seeing Ron and spent evenings fantasising about her wedding dress and honeymoon, instead of having nightmares about the wizard who had attacked her.

She also knew that it was never going to happen.

The curtain around her bed fluttered and she jerked upright, grabbing her wand from the dresser and pointing it shakily at the gap in the drapes.

"It's just me!" Harry's voice whispered, appearing as he peeled the invisibility cloak off his body, revealing his striped pyjamas and thick jumper. Hermione released a sound of relief, her heart pounding painfully against her sternum. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you..." 

Nodding, she swallowed hard. "It-it's okay," she said.

"No it isn't," Harry murmured gently, nodding at the wand that was still pointed at his chest.

Her nerveless fingers shaking around the narrow rod of wood, she dropped it on the blanket. "I-I-I'm sorry, Harry," she mumbled, jerkily fidgeting with her blankets, heat burning in her cheeks. "I-I'm a little jumpy..."

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he lifted both her cold hands from the knot they were twisting in the blanket, enclosing them between his own warm ones. "I know," he said, squeezing her hands lightly. "I thought you might be having trouble sleeping."

"Just a little," she admitted, looking up from their hands.

"Want me to stay?"

"In other words, 'I'm not staying in the prefect's rooms with Ron'," she interpreted quietly. She could see Harry's face tighten by the moonlight washing in on them, the muscles in his jaw tensing. "Am I right?"

He remained silent for a few minutes. "Hermione," he finally said, his voice shaking, probably with anger. "After what he did... said to you... what he accused you of doing, I don't know how I'm meant to face the stupid git again."

"He accused you of doing things too."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, exhaling a controlled breath, his hands tightening around hers. "But that doesn't matter now. After everything that happened, he has no excuse for saying half the things he did about you."

"Harry, he didn't know..."

"You think that gives him a right to..." Harry trailed off, his eyes on her face. "You don't really care what he said, do you?" he said disbelievingly. "You... you still feel the same way about him..." 

"I... how could I just change my feelings for him?" she asked, her voice shaking. She could feel a cold sweat forming on her skin and shivered, pulling her knees up to her chest. Withdrawing her hands from his, she hugged her legs. "I-I need him, Harry..."

"But he..."

"I know," she cut him off quickly, her chin resting on her upraised knees. Her fingers were bruising her calves through the blanket. "I know he's said things he shouldn't have and acted in ways that upset us... and hurt us... but he's hurt to."

"How can you justify what he did, Hermione? I don't understand..." 

Hermione lowered her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "He didn't know what was happening, Harry. If you were in the same position as he is now... if the person that you were involved with wouldn't touch you and you found out they were pregnant and you knew it couldn't be yours... I don't think you would be acting rationally either..."

Harry snorted.

Raising a hand to lift his chin, Hermione forced him to look her in the eyes. "Would you?"

"Probably not," Harry reluctantly agreed, gazing at her. "But I know I'd have asked a lot more questions a lot sooner, though. I mean, you've been... well... kind of 'off' all term and he didn't even bother trying to find out..."

"How do you know?"

Harry tilted his head, a wary expression in his eyes. "He did?"

"My birthday... he said whenever I could explain everything when I was ready, that I could tell him anything... he knew something was wrong and he was willing to wait for me to tell him... if other people hadn't got to him first..."

"He should have trusted you," Harry argued. She could see his anger in the flush of his cheeks, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists on his thighs. "Even I know you would never and he... he's your bloody boyfriend and the git didn't trust you... you deserve someone better than that... someone that trusts you..."

Every word he said was like a twist of the knife that felt like it was lodged to the hilt in her heart and Hermione pressed her eyes shut, her throat painfully tight as she tried to swallow.

"Do you honestly think that I haven't been thinking about it, Harry?" she gritted out between tightly-clenched teeth. "Do you think I've just been sitting here, admiring the colour of the curtains? What do you think has been keeping me awake all night? Do you think I don't care about all those hateful, horrible things he said to me? Do you think I was deaf? That I didn't hear them?"

There was a silence, only broken by her unsteady breathing.

"Hermione..." Harry's voice had softened a little. "Hermione, I'm sorry..."

Exhaling a heavy sigh, she turned to face him and opened her eyes. "He's going to be hurting too, Harry," she said quietly. "He said all those things, not really wanting to believe them... I could tell from his face...in what he said... then found out the truth... he found out that - in a way - I had really betrayed him..." 

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but she shook her head tiredly, raising a hand to silence him. 

"Harry, I did. Malfoy... he had sex with me. Forced, yes, but it was still sex. Ron's going to have to deal with that, even if he doesn't want to..." she said quietly. She rubbed her forehead, her temples throbbing. "He's going to have to try and come to terms with the fact that I had sex with someone else but in a way that means he wasn't cheated on. He has every right to be angry, but he's confused as well... shocked... scared... hurt..." 

"He should still have trusted you," Harry said, the anger giving way to pained sympathy for her, for which Hermione was grateful. She didn't have the strength to face him when he was angry and in need of a vent for his rage.

"I know," she replied, looking down at the creases in the blanket. "But you know what he's like. He... he's not used to having something that's just his, something that no one else can touch. He's always scared that someone will take his... well, anything. He's used to people taking his things, just borrowing them without asking - books, clothes, anything they wanted... he just thought that I would be the one thing he had that no one else could take from him."

"That just makes him more of an arrogant, possessive git."

The crack of Hermione's hand connecting with Harry's face was deafening in the quiet ward and she clapped the same hand to her mouth in shock, less than a heartbeat after it had come in contact with her friend's face.

Harry's surprise mirrored her own, his hand rising to touch the flare of red on his cheek. "Um..."

"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry..."

Rubbing his cheek slowly, he gave her a rueful look. "Actually, I think you think I deserved that one," he said, grimacing. "Now, I'm very glad that you've never had to whack me before."

"You... you shouldn't have said what you said about Ron," she mumbled, her own cheeks flaming with a combination of embarrassment and lingering anger at what he had said. "He might be possessive and a little... stubborn, but I...I..." she trailed off, lowering her eyes.

"That's why you love him, isn't it?"

Unable to find the words to reply, Hermione nodded, twisting the blanket between her hands. Drawing several shallow breaths, she raised her face to Harry. 

"And I think that's the reason I might lose him," she whispered, hot tears brimming in her eyes. "And I-I don't think... I don't think I could stand it..." Harry caught her in a tight hug as she started to sob, her face buried in his shoulder. "I don't want to lose him, Harry... I don't want to lose him..."

"I know, Hermione... I know..."

Safely buried in Harry's protective arms, she wept until she had no tears left and until the painful, wracking sobs gave way to utter exhaustion. 

The last thing she remembered was Harry gently stroking her hair and murmuring softly to her, so softly that she couldn't make out a word that he said, but his presence was comforting all the same.

***

Warmth and light were the things that woke her.

Not that she wanted to wake up initially. It was the first time in weeks that she hadn't been woken by a nightmare of some kind and the comfortable blanket of sleep was so warm and snug around her that she didn't want to even move.

Rubbing her right cheek against her pillow, she gripped the fabric just in front of her nose with her left hand, her right arm tucked up against her chest under the blankets and sheets that were drawn up to her shoulders.

Remaining where she lay, her eyes lightly closed as the sun's rays wandered through the window and lightly caressed her face, she slowly became aware of voice speaking somewhere nearby.

"Wouldn't want to disturb her..."

"Decent night's sleep..."

There was a rustle of the fabric of the curtain and Hermione was sure she could feel the heat of someone gazing in on her. A prickle of unease ran down her back and she had to force herself not to squirm.

The curtains rustled again, falling back into place, and she strained to hear quietly-receding footsteps, her fingers biting into the surface of her pillow as she released a long breath of relief.

To her shock, her pillow rose under her face and she jumped with a little gasp of surprise, her eyes snapping open to find that what she had assumed was a pillow was - in fact - the jumper-clad chest of Harry.

He had apparently just woken when she had dug her fists into his torso, inhaling a breath to yawn then - realising that a head was resting on his left side - was trying to hold his breath so he wouldn't disturb her.

"H-Harry?"

A rush of expelled air ruffled her hair. "Morning," he said, then drew another breath.

Her arm between them was cramped, but she used it to lever herself upwards into a sitting position, squinting around in the morning light, a little disorientated by the position she had woken in.

"Did... how...?" 

Harry was more or less sitting up against the pillows that were propped against the headboard of the bed and apparently had been for most of the night, on top of the blankets that she was snugly tucked under.

"You were dead to the world," he replied softly, as he sat up and stretched his arms, grimacing as his joints cracked. "I didn't want to disturb you, so I thought it would be safer if I just stayed put and let you use me as your pillow."

Hermione stared at him incomprehensively, one hand rubbing her cheek which was ridged from the folds in his jumper. For the first time, she hadn't had any nightmares without drugging herself to sleep.

Could it be that having him present while she was sleeping, albeit as a rather large, comfortable and jumper-wearing pillow, his warmth near her, his safe, familiar smell, meant that her mind felt she was safe? 

Swinging off the bed, Harry continued to stretch. "Next time we do that," he said, cricking his neck. "I get to choose a more comfortable position to sit in. I don't think I've ever been quite as stiff..."

"N-next time?"

He gave her a half-smile. "Well, you seemed to sleep well, so you know... if you want a Harry-pillow..."

Rubbing her sleepy eyes with the heels of her hands, she nodded. "I-I-I think I need someone close... someone else beside me... so I know," Her words caught and she had to draw another tremulous breath before saying. "So I know that he won't be able to get to me again..."

"And you know all you have to shout and I'll come running," Harry said, sitting back down on the edge of the bed and squeezing her hand. "If I can do anything to help you get through this..."

Hermione managed to dredge up a wan smile, the muscles in her cheeks twitching as she did so. It felt such an alien expression now, the heat of his fingers around hers like a furnace to her icy skin.

"You don't have to, Harry..."

Green eyes met hers, ringed with dark circles which suggested that he hadn't slept nearly as well as she had. "I know," he replied honestly. "But I want to. I'm a friend, Hermione, and I'm not about to leave you to deal with this on your own."

They were said so simply that Hermione felt a great spring of relief bubble up inside her. However, the relief was rapidly replaced by a surge of pain and agitation, when she recalled how long she had concealed the situation from her friend.

"I... I should have told you sooner," she said unsteadily. "But I thought you would..."

"You thought we would all hate you and blame you," Harry acknowledged, shifting to sit beside her, an arm sliding around her shoulder. "It's a natural reaction. I should know, Hermione, I've been there. But it's past now and we all know and still love you and everything is going to sort itself out."

Resting her head on his shoulder, Hermione nodded, her hands playing absently on the blankets. "I wish that I could believe you," she murmured wearily.

"Would you feel better if I said that everything is bollixed to hell and it's going to stay that way and there's nothing you can do about it?"

Brown eyes rose to green. "That would actually sound like a more realistic situation to me, at the moment," she answered. "Even if I prefer the first choice more."

Harry sighed, wrapping her up in his arms. "Don't you worry about it, Hermione," he promised, his cheek resting against the top of her head. "I'll do everything I can to try and get things as close to normal as possible."

"Something tells me that it could be a bit of challenge," she said sadly. "You and Ron aren't talking," Harry stiffened and she tried to ignore it. "I'm pregnant with a Dark Wizard's baby... I can't think of anything less normal..."

"Once again, I'm conjuring the image of Snape in that damned pink cocktail dress..."

Hermione couldn't help giggling quietly. "You and your fixation with Snape in that cocktail dress..." she remarked, shaking her head. "I think I should start worrying about you, Harry."

"I blame Neville's boggart for it," Harry said immediately, a little too eagerly. "He's the one who has fantasies of Snape in drag! It's nothing whatsoever to do with me!"

"And the fact that you've taken him out of Neville's grandmother's clothes and put him in a pink cocktail dress - probably with taffeta ruffles and sequins - is nothing to do with your imagination."

Harry remained silent and she looked up to see that his face had gone an odd shade of grey-green.

"Harry?"

"Please never ever mention Snape in the context of being taken out of clothing..."

A very scary and equally naked image - which she would rather have burned her eyes out than seen - immediately leapt up in front of Hermione's eyes, which widened in horror. "Yuck!"

"I'll say," Harry mumbled. "Quick... give me something else to think about!"

"Dumbledore?"

Harry's expression fell. "Even worse..."

His generosity with mental images was beyond compare.

"Oh God! Harry! Stop it!" Hermione couldn't help laughing, slapping Harry on the leg. "I didn't need to imagine that."

"May I inquire what you might be imagining?" another voice asked, as the curtains opened to reveal none other than the Head Master. Hermione's hand clapped over her mouth to smother a giggle and she heard Harry utter a feeble choking sound. "Ah... I assume that means I am best left in the dark as to your thoughts."

"It was his fault," she said primly.

"I'm sure, Miss Granger," the Head Master said with a suggestion of a smile. "Now, though, your parents have arrived and I was wondering if..."

"Can I see them?" Hermione demanded, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them, although a nervous flutter had begun in her belly. What if they thought that she was...

"They won't blame you or hate you or anything like that," Harry said softly, as if he could read her mind. His arm was loosely draped around her shoulder and he gave her a reassuring smile when she looked at him questioningly. "They love you."

Dumbledore nodded, giving Harry one of those small smiles that could be interpreted in so many ways. "They will be here momentarily," he said, drawing the curtains open around the bed.

Shifting uncomfortably, Hermione nervously smoothed the blankets over her legs again, then looked at Harry. "Could you...?"

"Stay?" She nodded, licking her lips. They felt so dry suddenly and her mouth wasn't any better. Swallowing several times, she tried to find her voice to answer, but no sound came out. "Of course. You know you don't need to ask."

Smiling faintly, she drew and exhaled several slow breaths, trying to push aside the dizzy, nauseous feeling that was rushing through her, her head throbbing.

"Hermione!"

Looking towards the door of the wing, Hermione felt all feelings of unease dissipate instantly at the sight of her mother hurrying down the ward towards her. Reaching out, as her mother approached, she couldn't help whispering, "Mummy..."

Warm maternal arms wrapped around her, enveloping her entirely, the familiar scent of her mother's perfume washing over her and Hermione felt safer than she had in months, even in Harry's embrace.

Even though she felt happier than she had in weeks, she couldn't hold in the tears, clinging to her mother, her face buried in the thick, warm material of her mother's scarf, inhaling the warm, safe, mummy smell that was mixed up with the equally well-known whiff of antiseptic from the dental practise.

"Mum's here, Hermione," Her mother's voice was shaking, but it was the most wonderful thing Hermione had ever heard. The rocking motion as her mother cradled her felt so natural, so safe, so right. "Mum's here...it's going to be all right, love... we're here, love... it'll be all right..."

"I'm sorry, mummy... I'm so sorry..."

"Oh, Hermione..." Gentle hands stroked her tangled hair and she felt kisses pressed to the top of her bowed head. "You didn't do anything wrong, love..."

Unable to voice another word, Hermione just clung tighter to her mother, the hot wetness of tears burning down her face, as she was rocked, just like she had been so many years before when she had woken in the throes of a nightmare.

"You know we love you, sweetheart," another voice added. Daddy! Lifting her face, she tried to smile, but her lips refused to respond, her vision blurring with overflowing tears and she saw her dad's face crumple in grief. He squeezed onto the bed behind her, touching her shoulder. "Oh, love... why didn't you tell us?"

Twisting in her mother's arms, she flung her arms around her father's neck. "Daddy, it was horrible..." she sobbed, clinging to him, his arms closing around her. "I-I didn't want you to be upset..."

Her mother moved closer and both of them wrapped her up in their arms, shielding her from the cruel and painful world, whispering reassurances and hugging her as if she were the most precious thing they had ever touched.

***

Sitting on a large couch, provided by Dumbledore, in front of the fireplace at the far end of the infirmary, Hermione was safely sandwiched between her parents, Harry sitting at her feet on a heap of cushions.

After a shower and dressing in warm clothing, she had managed to force herself to eat something, with her parents and Harry, although she had more or less just picked at the massive plate of food.

Outside, the wind was whistling shrilly, slashing occasionally spatters of rain against the glass of the tall windows.

However, despite the cosy atmosphere, the subject was far from comfortable.

With her parents and best friend there, reminding her that she was safe and loved, no matter what, she had finally been forced to confront the ever-growing issue of the baby that she was carrying, the child of the man who had raped her.

"Professor Dumbledore told us you were going to abort it."

Hermione couldn't bear to look up at her mother's face, blankly watching her blunt-nailed fingers flex around her mother's tidy ones, where they rested on the dark green corduroy material of her skirt. 

"I... I thought it would be better if it was gone without anyone else knowing about it," she mumbled, her other hand squeezed gently, reassuringly by her father's. "If no one knew, then no one would get hurt..."

Her head resting against her mother's shoulder, she felt a hand stroking her hair. "I know it's hard to believe, but we do understand why you wanted to do it, love," her mother said softly.

Nodding, her throat constricting, Hermione pressed her lips together and closed her eyes. Drawing a breath, she lifted her face a little, as Harry's hand patted her on the knee comfortingly.

"I couldn't do it, mummy..." she whispered. Her voice sounded even thinner than it had before. "I thought I could, but I couldn't. I... I was going to drink the potion... make it all go away... but then I-I-I thought... it isn't just a sickness... it isn't like a bug or infection of something... it's a baby..." She looked up at her mother, half-expecting to see anger or disgust, but was only greeted with concern and love in her mother's brown eyes. "It's a little person, mummy... I was going to kill a little person..."

"Oh, love, you had a good reason..."

"But you didn't do it," Harry said softly, drawing her attention. "You didn't."

"But I thought about it, Harry... I wanted to..."

Harry knelt up and Hermione leaned forwards and wrapped her arms tightly around him, his touch so comforting now that she just wanted to stay there, just close her eyes and be held, safe and warm, forever.

"S'all right, Hermione," he murmured, his hands spreading on her back, hot even through the wool of her dark blue jumper. "We're here for you, remember... we're all here for you..."

"What am I going to do?" she whispered, as she slowly sat up and was gathered between her parents, her voice trembling so badly that she could barely make out the words. "I-I'm not... it's his... I-I... it's mine, but it's his too..."

"What do you want to do, love?" her father asked.

A thousand responses ran through her mind, overlapping one another: curl up and sleep for the rest of my life, hide so no one will ever find me again, go back to the ways things were before, have Ron care about me...

"Do you want to have it adopted?" her mother prompted gently.

Sliding a hand under her jumper, Hermione spread her cold palm on the light swell of her warm stomach, a shiver running through her. Palpating the skin, she looked down at it. 

"I don't know," she said, her voice choking in her throat. "I-I'm too young... but I-I don't... I don't want to get rid of it. I know it... it came from him... and I-I know if it looks like him... I-I think I would hate it... but it's part of me... I-I want to protect it..." 

"Do you want to keep it or give it away?" Harry asked, although there was a tone in his voice that made her look at him. 

His expression was neutral, but there was a wary uneasiness in his green eyes that reminded her that he had been given to people who had hated him and made him suffer for what he was.

If she gave this baby, the child that was growing inside her, the bastard's bastard... no, Hermione corrected herself firmly, gritting her teeth together, my baby. If this baby was given up for adoption and ended up in the same situation as Harry, she knew she would never be able to live with herself.

"I don't want it hurt because of where it came from," she finally said, looking around at them. If... if it gets adopted, I want to see the people it's going to. I want to know it would be loved..."

"If it gets adopted?"

Hermione swallowed a bitter lump in her throat. "I-I can't decide... not yet... I know it's... I should hate it... because of where it came from... but I can feel it growing... it needs me... I'm the one who is making it... it's... it's mine... I'm carrying it... feeling it living... I... I don't know if I would be able to give it to someone else..."

"It's your decision, love," her mother's said, both of her hands enclosing one of Hermione's. "You know we'll stand by you whatever you decide to do and if you want to keep the baby, we'll do what we can to help you with it."

Nodding, Hermione's eyes were burning, her mother's arm slipping around her shoulder and drawing her close. Swallowing hard several times, she drew a shaking breath to speak. 

"It's just..." she began, then trailed off. "I... I had so many plans and things I wanted to do... and now, even if I don't keep the baby... everything has changed and I don't know if I would be able to do... well... anything that I thought..."

"You can still do anything you want to do, Hermione," Harry said quietly. She looked at him, but he was staring at his bitten nails, a pensive expression on his face that spoke of memories and experience. "I know you've been hurt, but you can get back up. Show them that you're stronger than anything they can throw at you, even if inside you feel like you're going to break at any minute. Stick your finger up at them and show them that even though you are afraid of them, you can still be whatever you want to be. They can't stop you."

"How?" The question came out as a squeak.

Green eyes rose to her beneath a tangled fringe. "Do everything and more. Become the Minister of Magic. Take over the world. If you can't do it wizard style, do it in the muggle world. Become someone that they can't ignore."

"Or...?"

Harry shrugged, one side of his mouth rising slightly. "You could always just do what you had planned to do all along, but personally, I think you would make a bloody good Princess."

"Princess?" Hermione echoed, unable to smother a shaky laugh.

"Er... I meant Prime Minister," he replied sheepishly.

Raising her hands to push her unruly hair back, Hermione considered what he was saying, aside from the Princess comment. There was no doubt in her mind that he was reflecting on his own experiences and he knew what he was talking about.

"You're right, Harry," she said, nodding. "If I do what I feel like doing and leave the wizarding world, to hide in a nice muggle house in a nice muggle town, away from everything, they're going to have won. I... I'm scared of them... but you're right... I can't let them beat me into a corner. I'm not brave, but I... I'm not a coward. I'm not going to hide. I had a life before and I can have it again."

"Of course you can, love," her father said, squeezing her shoulder. "You're a clever, strong young woman and nothing can ever take that away from you."

"I-I hope so," Hermione agreed fervently. "I... I want to get on with my life. The... the worst part of this... it was no one knowing... hiding it... trying to keep quiet so no one would hate me and now... now, you all know and I feel better knowing that."

"Told you it helped," Harry murmured with a half-smile. 

Hermione reached down and smacked him on the head, receiving a yell of protest and a futile swat. "You're just so wonderful, aren't you?" she said, sarcasm dripping off the words. "Oh, Boy-Who-Lived, what have I done to deserve your wisdom?"

"I don't know, Girl-Who-Slaps, but I think I'm starting to regret it!"

***

In then following few hours, Hermione and her parents deliberated in depth over what they would, could and should do, regarding the child that she was carrying, Harry departing to try and find Ron, albeit unwillingly.

Despite accepting that Hermione still wanted his former best-friend nearby, Harry still refused to forgive him for what he had said and Ron hadn't even come close enough to apologise.

As the afternoon brightened, Hermione had found herself glancing longingly out at the grounds, bathed in a winter light, the snow deep and crisp. WIth fresh air in mind, she had offered to show her parents around the school while they were there, since neither of them had seen the castle before. 

The three of them were sitting on the couch, as Hermione pulled on her shoes, when Professor Dumbledore entered the room, all three turning to see who it was. His expression was serious, as he walked up the ward towards them.

"Head Master?" Hermione started to her feet instantly, one shoe on, the other in her hand "What is it? What's happened? Is it Ron? Or Harry? Is something wrong?"

Making a calming motion with one hand, Dumbledore's expression didn't lighten. "I think it may be best if you sit down, Miss Granger," he said gently, which did nothing to ease Hermione's sudden wave of fear.

Her stomach clenching, her palms sweating, she slowly sank back down to sit between her parents. It felt like her heart was being crushed through a wringer as she wet her lips. "What... what is it?"

"I have just come to inform you that it might be best if you remain in the wing for the rest of the afternoon," he said, gazing at her over his glasses. "I am aware you wished to go out for some fresh air, but I would not recommend it." 

"But why...?" 

Her question tailed off, her hands suddenly shaking, as she realised just why.

"He's here... isn't he?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "I'm afraid," he said. "That we would be unable to control him elsewhere, as he tends to be somewhat unpredictable when it comes to magic. Hogwarts is the only place that we would be able to control and arrest him. We did not expect him to comply so quickly."

"Of course," Despite the dizziness assailing her, she could understand. Her face felt cold as ice, while her hands felt like they were on fire. Her stomach was twisting in knots like a next of snakes. She raised her eyes to him. "He can't disapparate out and there are charms against dark magics..."

"You have read Hogwarts: A History?" Hermione nodded. "That is, indeed, the case. I am afraid I was forced to summon him here. The Aurors have been summoned and will be here as soon as they can."

"Does... does he know?"

"About the infant?" Dumbledore shook his head in the negative. "He knows he has been summoned to the school, regarding his child, but I... neglected to inform him that it was not Draco."

"That was cunning," Hermione muttered in a flat monotone, staring at the fireplace in front of her. It felt like she was on fire inside, burning up, nausea assailing her. Her hands clenched into fists on her knees. "Where... where is he?"

"I am to take him to my office," Dumbledore answered quietly. "It is the most powerfully protected area of the castle and I believe the Aurors will be there shortly."

He was here.

The one who had done it all.

The person who had taken her strange, yet happy life and torn it completely asunder.

The individual who had forced her apart from her friends, who had shattered the relationship she had with the only person she could ever imagine spending the rest of her life with, who had - with one gesture - ruined everything.

Her hands started shaking, but it wasn't from fear.

Far from it. 

Yes, she was afraid of the man, but not here, not now.

He couldn't hurt her here. She was protected, safe, loved and no matter what the son of a bitch said, his words were the lies of a snake and she knew she didn't need to believe them anymore.

Raising her face to Dumbledore, her expression tight she actually saw him recoil at the look in her eyes. No wonder, she thought grimly. She had never felt so full of hatred and rage in her life.

"I..." Did she? Did she want to put herself through the fires once more? "I want to..." But what if he did it again? What if, despite Hogwarts' spells, he managed to hurt her again? "I... want to see him."

The words were spat out.

"Hermione," her mother started to say, but Hermione shook her head, determined.

Her legs trembling with fear and anger, she managed to stand upright, her chin raised proudly. "Harry was right," she said, ignoring the feeling that her stomach was slowly turning inside out. "I need to prove I'm stronger than them. I want to face him and show him that he didn't beat me."

"I don't think Harry meant quite like this, love," her father stood quickly, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Don't you think...?"

Looking up at her father's anxious face, Hermione swallowed hard and drew a determined breath. Her heart was constricting with terror, but she knew she had to do it. "Daddy, I need to do this... for me... and to show him."

"Do you want us to come with you?"

Shaking her head, she wet her lips. "No. I need to do this... and the Head Master will be there..." Dumbledore nodded immediately. "Sir, do you think...I mean, would I be insane to...?"

"If this is what you feel you need to do," he said seriously. "I would not be the one to tell you otherwise. Do you feel that you must?"

Hermione thought about it for several moments.

Was she really ready for this? Would she ever really be ready? Did it matter? What would she say? Do? Would he mock her? Would he be afraid? Would she freeze up, as she had before?

She looked at Dumbledore.

Somehow, knowing that he would be present made it seem less terrifying. Still enough to make her tremble, but she wasn't alone this time. He couldn't degrade her or hurt her.

"Yes," she finally said. "I have to face him."


	10. Chapter Ten

Hermione couldn't recall ever feeling quite as scared as she felt, following Professor Dumbledore into his office, her shaking, damp-palmed hands bunching in the fabric of her robes nervously.

All right, yes she had been this scared once before, but that was a different place, a different time, although the face she was about to see was the thing that reminded her of that living nightmare every day.

They had just left her parents with Professor McGonagall, who was showing them around the school, while Harry had explained that he was going to go and practise on his broom for a while.

Where Ron was, he didn't know and stated coolly that he didn't really care.

That had made Hermione's heart sink to her toes, her red-haired boyfriend's face the one she wanted to see the most before going to Dumbledore's office to face her worst nightmare in human form.

Even a smile from him would have been enough to give her the nerve and resolve to go ahead bravely, to show Malfoy exactly why Ron had cared for her and just how strong a muggle-born could be.

It was apparently too much to ask, though.

"Are you absolutely sure about this, Hermione?" the Head Master said softly, closing the door behind them.

She opened her mouth, but her throat closed up, tight and bone-dry. She clapped her mouth shut, nodding determinedly, her teeth gritting together so hard she was sure they would snap off at the root.

Placing his hand between her shoulders, he gently drew her forwards and towards his large desk, where he conjured a chair on the near side. Both of them ascended the steps and he looked down at her.

"If you would take a seat, Miss Granger," he said, the formality in his tone making her feel nauseous and dizzy. She was doing this. She was actually willing to face the son of a she-Sirius who had ruined her life.

Sitting down quickly on the large, oaken chair, banging the back of her knees against the wood, she ignored the pain the blossomed out. Pulling her robes over her knees, she twisted her hands together, squeezing them between her knees.

"Wh-what now?" she asked shakily, her skin prickling with insect's feet of unease.

"I will place several protection spells around you in particular, lest he is fool enough to attempt anything under my nose," Dumbledore answered, gazing down at her. The calmness in his blue eyes eased a little of her fear. "This chamber virtually negates any power of his wand, due to the wards and charms placed on it, but I am not willing to risk your well-being."

"A-all right."

With a few incantations and a soft glow washing over her, making her skin tingle, Hermione saw a blurred ring of pale silver light appear around the chair and herself, something she recognised as a protective circle.

"I will ask again, are you certain you wish to follow this course of action?"

Swallowing hard to push down the feeling that her heart was squeezing its way up her constricted throat, she nodded jerkily. "I-I need to show him that I'm not afraid of him anymore," she stammered.

Oh! Ha! Good one!

Not afraid of him.

Oh yes, Hermione, you're really going to show him how greatly you can resemble a deer in the headlights. He's going to be awfully impressed, isn't he?

I'm not afraid of him!

Keep telling yourself that, little girl, if it makes you feel better. Keep telling yourself that you aren't going to freeze the moment he looks at you, that his voice isn't going to make you sob for mercy and run away.

It won't! I-I can do this! I can face him! Harry knows and he'll look after me! And mummy and dad too! And Professor Dumbledore! They care about me and they know I have to do this!

Mmm.

Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up! I'm facing him! I have to! I HAVE to!

"Hermione?"

Jolting in shock at her name, raising her stinging eyes to Dumbledore's concerned face, Hermione was startled to realise that her hands were tangled into her hair, her fingernails biting into her scalp.

Stiffly lowering her shaking hands to her lap, she smiled weakly at him, although it felt like her every muscle in her face was straining to breaking point with the effort of forming that single expression.

"If you wish to change your mind..."

"NO!" 

It was practically screamed out and Dumbledore clearly understood why. 

If he had finished the question, given her the choice of leaving one more time, she knew there was every chance she would take it and she knew that would only make things worse.

She needed closure. 

She needed to bring the bastard down to his natural level of the dirt at her feet and kick him where he fell.

"He cannot harm you here," the Head Master said reassuringly, rounding the desk and sitting down opposite her. She nodded once more, licking her lips, which felt like they had been transfigured into narrow strips of sand paper.

Only a few heartbeats passed before the door opened behind her, but those instants felt like an eternity, her heart drumming a frenzied rhythm in her ears, blood rushing dizzyingly in her head.

Squeezing her hands bruisingly between her knees, pain radiated up her arms, but she forced herself to keep staring at the polished front of Dumbledore's broad desk, as footsteps imperiously strode closer.

"Dumbledore."

There were four dark knots in the wood. 

"Lucius."

Seven smaller, paler ones. 

"May I know why I have been summoned here?"

A streak that looked almost like a dash of lightening on the wood.

"I believe that Miss Granger would be the one to answer that question."

A chip in the bottom right corner, where it looked like someone had kicked it with a pointed toe in a fit of temper.

"Miss Granger?"

She felt the moment he became aware of her, the very second his expressionless eyes swept over her, ice gushing through her body and making her tremble, but she forced herself to raise her face, shaking violently.

Clad almost identically to the way he had been that night, one hand was resting lazily on the head on his cane, the other on his hip. He was gazing at her beneath hooded lids, his expression inscrutable, but she could see a flicker of an emotion she couldn't identify in his eyes. 

She was sure her heart was about to tear through her sternum with the force of the raw beat of it, the rushing of her blood making her head swim as she stared up at him, terror flooding her.

"Well?" he said, in a tone that sounded bored.

Do it! Show him! Tell him! Kick him in the god damned metaphorical bollocks!

"I-I-I..." An eyebrow lifted slightly, one side of his mouth rising derisively.

That smug bastard! How dare he! Kick him! Kick him in the teeth!

Don't be stupid! He's bigger and more powerful than you. You wouldn't dare.

Think about what he did to you! To Ron! He hurt you both and Harry! 

The ice-cold terror that had flooded her was rapidly being replaced by a steady ebb of molten burning anger. Drawing a slow breath through her nose, she exhaled it, sitting up slowly and lifting her chin defiantly.

"I'm pregnant."

The hand on his hip slipped slightly, his robes flapping around his legs, but it was the only indication that he was startled. His eyes narrowed slightly. "I fail to see what the charming Miss Granger's promiscuity has to do with me." 

He directed the comment at the Head Master, but his pointed disgust was focussed at Hermione, who flinched, fighting every inner impulse she was feeling to bow her head and hide herself.

"I believe that might have something to do with the fact that you sexually assaulted Miss Granger several months ago," Dumbledore replied for her, his hands folded on the desk in front of him.

"Ridiculous!" Malfoy snorted, the expression in his silver eyes revealing that he was thinking quickly. "You summon me here because a stupid little girl goes too far without taking the adequate precautions."

"I assure you, Lucius, Miss Granger is as far from stupid as it is possible to be."

"And you, with your abundantly clear affection for her _type_," The way the single word was sneered made Hermione feel - for the first time - ashamed of being of non-magical origin. "Automatically believe her false allegations that I would assault her."

Dumbledore smiled, but it was far from his friendly, jovial smile, his aged hands spreading on the surface of the desk. Clearly Malfoy noticed it as well, taking a half-step back from the desk. 

"I find it remarkably odd, Lucius," he said. "That Miss Granger would be pregnant, having been unable to tolerate the touch of her other half for nearly four months and, prior to that, had not seen him for nearly a month and a half."

"And you believe her when she pins such absurd allegations on me? I would never touch such a..." His eyes scanned over her, his lip curling. It went without saying why he would deny touching her, but that would be too much like a prejudice that could be manipulated. She was unsurprised when he finished, "Young individual."

"Funny," Hermione managed to say, her voice shaking, staring defiantly back at him, unable to look away from those eyes, lest he tried anything. Her hands were clenched together so tightly, she could feel the bones rubbing against one another. "Because you did it. I-I-I'm pregnant because of you."

"Absurd!" he spat. She almost smirked at the unease in his voice, but the sick feeling swirling in her stomach quashed the impulse. "Even if I had partaken in such a liaison with this... muggle-born." The glitter in his eyes had changed somewhat. "No witch can be..." He cut himself off, glowering at her.

"What were you about to say, Lucius?" Dumbledore said coolly. 

"Nothing of importance," the blond wizard said coldly, although his hand tightened on the head of his cane. His eyes flicked briefly to Dumbledore, flashing angrily. "As I have committed no crime."

"Perhaps I can fill in the blanks," Dumbledore said in a calm, even voice, although Malfoy was still glaring darkly at Hermione. "Even if you had touched Miss Granger, a witch can not be forcibly impregnated. It has to come from an incident of mutual pleasure, according to the traditions of old blood, correct?"

Malfoy said nothing, although his lips pressed together, going white. He clearly was aware that either way he chose to answer, he would be admitting that he partaken in some kind of sexual relations with the muggle-born girl.

"L-Lavender Brown told m-me about the traditions," Hermione stammered, forcing the words out before her throat closed up again. "Sh-she explained how I... how you did this to..." Grey eyes narrowed slightly. The fingertips of her right hand biting into her left forearm through her robes, Hrmione trailed off weakly. "T-to me..."

The muscles in Malfoy's cheeks tightened, his eyes flashing in silent threat, warning her, once more, that if she said a word about what had come to pass, he would be sure that he would make her regret it. 

With the utmost effort, Hermione forcibly tore her eyes away from Malfoy's ice-cold ones to Dumbledore's warmer, gentle ones, finding there the comfort and support she so desperately needed to see. 

The Head Master met her gaze and dipped his chin in a nod. It almost felt like he had placed supports under her fragile nerves, strengthening her resolve. Swallowing hard, Hermione turned back to Malfoy.

"You have some further futile argument to make?" he sneered. "You think you can stand against the old blood traditions, when we both know quite well that I could never be a father to any bastard you might bear."

Stiffening her back and trying to steady her shaky nerves, she nodded. "Y-Yes," she said, although it felt like every drop of sizzling acid in her stomach was agonisingly eating it's way through her shivering body. "You forgot one thing. Your r-rules don't apply to me. I-I'm not an old-blood witch. I'm a muggle-born."

The momentary lapse in Malfoy's rigid control was barely noticeable, but she saw it and knew that Dumbledore would have too. His lips parted in shocked realisation, his eyes widening slightly, flooded with panicked dismay, but - almost instantly - the horrified understanding was masked.

"You see, Lucius, you appear to have underestimated Miss Granger, both in intelligence and courage." Dumbledore said with quiet confidence that Hermione wished she possessed a fraction of. "You may have believed her to be easily broken, but she is most certainly not. Her presence here should be enough to assure you of that." There was a brief pause, Malfoy's right eye narrowing slightly, then the Head Master finished quietly, "She is not afraid to testify against you in Court, under veritaserum, if necessary."

"Nonsense!" he spat. "You are simply on a vendetta against me, as a duty to your beloved Mister Potter." He flashed a glare at Dumbledore, although Hermione saw his eyes twitch slightly. "Seeing as you have wasted enough of my time, dragging me here in regards to this rubbish..." He turned and started to stalk away.

Eager to escape, Hermione knew hazily.

She knew she should try to stop him, try to move, try to anything, but her body felt so utterly boneless with exhaustion that even holding her head up a moment longer would be asking for too much.

He had given too much away with his actions and the only thing he could do was try and get out of Dumbledore's lengthy reach before he was brought before the powerful enemy in the form of the Ministry of Magic.

"There is no hurry to depart, Lucius," Dumbledore's voice was as jovial as ever, as he surveyed the blond wizard, a small smile on his lips. "Actually, I would consider it beneficial to your health if you were to remain here."

"I'm afraid I don't have time for any more of your crackpot nonsense and flimflam, Dumbledore," Malfoy snapped smartly, turning to walk out of the door.

Hermione shrieked in fright and Dumbledore smiled serenely as an arm shot out of thin air by the door way, grabbing Malfoy by the front of his robes. "You can not say I didn't give you ample warning, Lucius," he remarked.

There was a swish of material and Ron appeared from beneath an invisibility cloak, his expression more furious and dangerous than Hermione had ever seen it before. "I think you and I need to have a little... chat, Malfoy," he spat.

Malfoy didn't even have a chance to respond verbally, as Ron jerked him sideways and, with a savage push, physically threw him into the staircase that lead down from the tower, the older wizard falling out of sight.

"P-Professor?" Hermione was shaking like a leaf. She felt dizzy and delighted all at once at the sight of Ron hitting Malfoy like that. Her heart was pounding painfully fast and she wasn't sure if it was relief or anger.

Dumbledore met her gaze across the desk, allowing a small smile to show, his blue eyes twinkling a little. "Mr. Weasley has been present throughout the whole interview, Miss Granger," he said gently. "He witnessed everything from the moment that you entered the room."

Tears of relief filled her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure to be of service, Miss Granger," Dumbledore answered gently, rising to his feet. "But now, I do believe that we ought to go and make sure that Mr Weasley doesn't do any permanent damage..."

"But..."

"I meant before the trial, Miss Granger."

Nodding, Hermione stood up as well. It felt like an enormous weight had been lifted off her shoulders, now that Ron knew everything, although there was still that bitter twist at the thought of Malfoy.

Following the Head Master onto the spiral staircase, she clutched at his arm as the staircase descended, closing her eyes to fight down the nauseous feeling that using the stairs always gave her.

Before they even reached the bottom, she could hear the sound of blows and cries of pain, her hand tightening on Dumbledore's forearm. He gently patted her hand as the sight came into view.

She knew Ron had grown in the last year and a half, but only seeing him there made her realise just how much.

He towered over Lucius Malfoy and he had the blond wizard pinned against the wall with his left forearm pressed against Malfoy's throat. Malfoy's cane lay, useless, on the ground, several paces away.

There was a sickening crack as his right fist connected with Malfoy's jaw, clearly for at least the third time, judging by blood and spittle splashing down the front of the wizard's expensive robes.

Malfoy's hands were desperately clutching at Ron's arms, trying to force him back, but Ron was relentless, landing another blow to Malfoy's gut that doubled the blond over, gagging.

"You shouldn't have touched her, you filthy bastard," Ron snarled, driving his knee up between the man's legs with enough force to lift Malfoy off the ground, a feeble choking sound escaping him.

Stepping back, panting, he released Malfoy's throat and let the wizard drop to the flag-stoned floor, where he landed one last hard kick to Malfoy's gut before turning towards Dumbledore, leaving the blond wizard on the lip of unconsciousness.

"Are the aurors..." his words trailed off when he noticed Hermione was watching him. Her heart felt like it skipped a beat or six as he stared at her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. "Hermione," She shivered at the awe-filled tone in his voice. "Oh my God, Hermione..."

The tears that had been building in her eyes started to spill down her cheeks. "Ron."

He closed the distance between them in half a dozen paces, stopping right in front of her. His hands came up to frame her face and he stared at her with such an intensity she was convinced her legs were melting under her.

Then he did something she never would have ever expected, or even imagined.

Dropping onto his knees, his hands resting on his thighs, he stared up at her. His expression was so despairing and apologetic that she wanted to hug him. "I...I want to say that I'm sorry for what I said, for listening to them...and not listening to you, Hermione," he said, his voice shaking. "I...I was a bloody idiot and if you...you know...don't want to know me anymore, you'd be...well, I wouldn't blame you."

"Oh, Ron," One step closed the gap between them and she wrapped her arms around him, as he rose on his knees, his arms going around her waist. Even kneeling, he was nearly as tall as she was, his cheek resting against her chest. Pressing her lips against his shocking hair, she whispered. "You don't get rid of me that easily." 

His arms around her tightened and she could a damp heat spreading through the front of her jumper and shirt. He...oh God...he was crying. Ron was crying. Ron never cried. Not ever. Not once in all the time that she had known him.

"Ron...?"

He looked up at her, tears coursing down his face that looked so pale that she could see every single freckle standing alone. "I don't deserve you, Hermione," he said, his voice cracking. "I don't deserve anything after the way I've been treating you."

"I...haven't exactly been honest all of this year either, have I?" she tried to smile as she said it, but her lips refused to respond. 

Ron lifted up one of her hands and kissed her palm, lowering his eyes. "Yeah," he acknowledged. "But you had good reason, though. I was just a pillock."

"Can we deal with no more lying and no more not believing each other?" she said, stroking his cheek, warm and damp against her shaking fingertips. He felt so safe, so very reassuring, so utterly... Ron that she wondered how she could ever have kept it from him.

"I can if you can," he replied, slowly coming to his feet, still holding her small hand against his cheek with one of his own hands. The expression in his dark brown eyes made her stomach flip. "When I heard what they were saying... I... I went kind of crazy. I didn't want to believe it was possible... but they wouldn't let up... they... I tried not to listen... I didn't want you to go... I-I love you too much to lose you, y'know."

All right.

It was official. 

The very stones that formed Hogwarts were melting away beneath her feet and she was sinking into the gooey heap that remained. 

Ron loved her.

Ron Weasley loved her.

He had never actually said the words in that way before, especially not in the way that said he couldn't go on if she wasn't there with him, he had never really needed to because she had always known it, but now that he had said it...

Now that he knew everything and he still said it, said that he loved her...

She felt like she could dance up the walls and do a quick tango across the ceiling, the giddy delight she felt washing away all the dark, paranoid whispers that had still been niggling at her.

He loved her.

Nothing had stopped it.

He loved her.

He would make sure nothing ever happened to her again.

He loved her.

She was still standing there and staring at him like a guppy, her mouth opening and shutting without making a sound and probably looking very silly too.

Ron opened his arms, raising his brows in a hopeful way. It all came down to her reaction to him now, she knew, the beseeching expression on his face suggesting that he was still worried that she might turn and walk away.

She would do no such thing.

Pressing close against his chest, Hermione let him enfold her in his arms, the soft, steady thumping of his heart against her ear the most comforting sound she had heard in many days.

"Ron," she whispered, lifting her face up to his. He nodded down at her. Pulling him down to her level, she was still forced to rise on her toes as she kissed him chastely on the lips for the first time in months, his words, his gentle touches, his LOVE blanking out the self-loathing that still lingered beneath the surface. "I love you too."

His arms tightened around her, holding her to him and, despite the tremor of panic that instinctively flushed through her, she didn't pull away. Holding onto him, she felt the panic fade as he kissed the top of her head, his arms still around her.

"Are... are you afraid of me, Hermione?" she heard him whisper softly, but there was no anger or frustration in his voice. "I mean, I'm... if I touch you... will you be scared of me doing what he did?"

Tilting her face she looked up at him.

Just looking at his face, she knew she couldn't be afraid of him. Perhaps some touches would remind her of the nightmare, but not Ron, not him, not when she knew he would do everything to look after her.

But he had hurt her, not with touches, but with words.

"I-I-I..."

Ron's hand rose and lightly cradled her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. "You know I'll never hurt you again, Hermione," he promised, as if reading her mind. "And if I do, you have my permission to kick me in the bollocks."

"I-I might take you up on that," she replied shakily, clinging to him and pressing her eyes shut.

Ron nodded. "You know how bad I am at doing the apology-thing, but if it helps, I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it," he said, his brows drawing together at her expression. "What is it, love?"

"Th-there's one more thing I have to do," she said, lowering her head and turning. 

Closure still hadn't come.

Both of them looked over to the heap of tangled robes that was Malfoy. Beyond him, a quartet of Aurors had just entered through the arched doorway that lead out onto the grounds, each of them armed with their wand.

"D'you have to...?"

Hermione felt his large hand squeeze her shoulder and she nodded. "I need to," she said quietly, shivering - and not in a bad way - when Ron bent and brushed a light kiss against her cheek.

"We'll be here, love," he said. "If you need us..."

"You can charge in and kick his arse," she finished for him, a wan smile on her lips. 

He returned it, equally watery, his hand falling from her shoulder as she walked towards Malfoy, although, it could have been called more of a rigid stagger, her legs refusing to cooperate with her, her hands clenched into moist fists.

Her heart started pounding wildly again as she approached and she was almost sure she could hear the rhythm of the Lone Ranger's theme tune as her blood thundered in her ears.

Nearing him, she stopped less than a foot and a half away from him. Malfoy turned his face - contorted with hate - in her direction, blood trickling from one side of his mouth, giving him a strangely vampiric appearance.

"Come to mock me, little girl?" he spat, pushing himself up on one arm, the heel of his other hand smearing the blood across his chin, his eyes flashing. "You think the Ministry will listen to a filthy little whore like you?"

Although his words struck like a blow to her gut, she forced down the tears and pain that spread through her, gritting her teeth together and staring down at him with all the contempt she could summon.

"You are nothing," she said with quiet disdain. "No, you're less than nothing."

Malfoy snorted, the sound so full of derision she actually took a nervous step back, almost willing to turn and run back to Ron and the Head Master, his icy eyes locking with hers, mesmerising like the gaze of the cobra.

"You believe so, little girl?" 

There it was again.

The name he called her.

A swell of sickness rose in her and dizzy heat flooded her face. Her head throbbed agonisingly and she drew a breath to calm herself, wondering if she stoop to his level and kick him in the face.

"I know it," she said, the tremor in her voice almost masked by the malevolence with which she spat the words. "You are going to stand trial and I'm going to watch you get sent to Azkaban and I'm going to think about you rotting in there and I," She took a step closer as she said, with a cold expression, "I'm going to smile."

There was a glitter of malicious amusement in Malfoy's cold eyes. "That will never happen," he sneered, bracing one gloved hand on the floor beneath him. "You live in a dream world."

"The Aurors will arrest you, the Ministry will have no choice but to listen to me and you will never walk free again," Hermione stated, although the creeping unease was always rippling through her. 

What if he did get away with it?

"You are wrong on all three counts, little girl," he breathed, grinning at her, his teeth stained pink. Staggering to his feet, his right hand clutching his side under his robes, he looked down at her. "No Malfoy will ever go to Azkaban."

"You will," she said with certainty, taking a step back from him, the unnatural glitter in his pale eyes making her tremble. "You know you're guilty... I know it... they know it... they'll take you in..."

"Them?" Malfoy gave her an amused look, arching an eyebrow. "You believe that, little girl?"

Hermione's eyes darted to the Aurors.

That was her mistake.

Malfoy's hand shot out, grabbing a handful of her thick hair, pulling her in front of his body, her back against his chest. Hermione shrieked, Ron's curse reaching her ears as an ice-cold blade pressed against her throat.

The Aurors and Dumbledore had their wands out, directed the him, but Malfoy had pulled back against the wall and if they tried any spells, there was a great chance that they would hit her.

"Come closer or try any spells," Malfoy hissed, his left hand savagely jerking her head back so his chin was pressing against her temple, his voice a chilling hiss against her skin. "And you'll find out just how clean the wonderful Miss Granger's blood is."

"Let her go, you bastard!" Ron started forward, but Dumbledore seized his arm as Hermione uttered a choked gasp of pain, the knife pressing harder against the exposed skin of her throat.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Weasley," Malfoy replied with mock-sincerity, edging along the wall, his back against it, never relinquishing his grip on the witch, who was shaking with terror. "You see, I have this rather silly... dislike of being condemned to wizarding prison." 

Stumbling, her breath catching in her throat, Hermione was panting and trembling, panic washing through her body. She could feel the sharp edge of the knife coming dangerously close to breaking through her skin.

Her hands had risen, gripping Malfoy's right forearm in a futile grip. Strange, she noted wildly, as he pulled her along with him, that she was doing everything that a person in a film would, when grabbed around the throat.

What would Kathleen Turner do in a situation like this?

Not whimper and tremble she bet.

Think, Hermione, think... 

Be strong, like she is. Remember Jewel of the Nile... be practical...

Knife against throat! Sharp _knife_ against _my_ throat!

"Move," Malfoy inclined his head to the Aurors, each of whom were pointing their wands at them. Pointless really, Hermione knew, since - if any of them tried anything, even started the most basic of spells - he would probably slash her throat and make a break for freedom anyway. 

Once he was out of the building and onto the wild grounds, where there were at least a thousand places to hide before he could make it off the grounds when no one was looking and apparate away, there was every chance he would get away.

NO!

He couldn't!

Not after everything he did!

"I might take you with me, little girl," his voice was sibilant in her ear, slippery, insidious, making her stomach twist as if a thousand snakes were nesting in it, the only words she could pick from the blur of throbbing sound around her. "Filthy little slut that you are... we'll make you scream..."

Her breathing ragged, she pulled futilely at his forearm, gagging as he pushed his arm harder against her neck. "Why?" she croaked, her vision darkening around the edge. "Why me?"

"Why not?" he retorted in that sickening hiss. She could feel the pressure of his arm against her neck bruising the skin, trying desperately to swallow, helpless clicking sounds escaping her throat. "So easy to get to... even with your _friends_," he spat the word, saliva dashing her face. "Near you... without them to help you, you're nothing, Granger... you're less than nothing. A filthy, useless, obnoxious little mudblood..."

"No..."

Her vision was almost entirely obscured and blurred beyond recognition, her lungs frantically grasping at the thin whispers of air she was managing to draw through her constricted throat.

"Look at your situation, Granger," the whisper continued, tears burning in her eyes with the pain, the humiliation, the terror. "They're letting me take you again. They could have saved you by now, you know, but they're won't. They're going to let you die. You and your filthy little bastard brat. Your friends... they don't need you... if they did, they would have helped you by now, wouldn't they? They don't need you filthy, useless, muggle-born carcass to whine and moan and cause them misery. They want you dead. You'll be more use to them dead."

Hermione pressed her eyes closed as he continued to haul her backwards with him, tears burning down her cheeks.

_He's wrong_, her mental voice whispered, _he's wrong! Don't listen!_

But he's right. They could have helped you. They didn't.

The arm against her throat loosened and she drew panting gasps of air, her eyes snapping open as she felt a rush of cold air against her skin, her feet slipping as she stumbled down the stairs backwards, still pulled tight against Malfoy's chest.

The ground seemed to grow softer and the scent of open air hit her.

They were outside.

Her vision began to clear from the musty veil of darkness, her lungs filling with much-needed air and she tried her best to stay on her feet, the blade of the knife still stingingly pressed against her jugular.

Around her, the blur of barely recognisable sound started to clear and she could pick out words, voices, one voice ringing with panic, fury and every emotion that she was feeling right at that moment.

"Hermione!"

Squinting in the direction of it, she saw a blurred person, red hair, pale face...

Ron.

Ron!

Staggering, she heard Malfoy curse, jerking her upright again by her hair.

No! 

She had just got Ron back! 

She wasn't going to lose him again!

"Let go of me," she rasped, trying to pull Malfoy's arm from her throat.

"I think not, mudblood," he spoke directly into her ear, his lips brushing against the sensitive lobe making her shudder with revulsion. "You can't fight me on your own, so why should I give you up, when I can still have so much more fun with you?"

It was almost as if the black sheet that had covered her eyes moments earlier had been replaced with a red one.

Panting, drawing rapid breaths through clenched teeth, Hermione's hands dropped from his arm and she balled her fists. "I said," she snarled, digging in her feet and not moving. "Let go of me!"

The words were punctuated by her raising one foot and slamming it down hard on his, making him curse in pain, and - in the same motion - jerking her sharp elbow backwards as hard as she could, aiming for the wizard's gut.

Unfortunately for Lucius Malfoy, he was much taller than she was and her pointed aim struck a much lower and more sensitive target on his anatomy. A gurgled gasp escaped him and his grip on her tightened for a heartbeat, then he just seemed to drop away. He fell to the ground, curling in on himself, his pale face even whiter than it usually was.

Swaying on her feet, Hermione stared down at him, amazed at herself, her hands trembling over her mouth. "I-I did it," she whispered in astonished disbelief. "I-I showed him... I showed him..."

A hand on her shoulder made her jump and she tilted her head to find Ron standing over her, his arms wrapping around her. "Bloody hell, Hermione," he whispered, burying his face in her hair and holding her tightly. "I thought I'd lost you."

"Me too," Hermione croaked, her throat raw, as she leaned into his arms, her head resting back against his.

The Aurors bore down, surrounding and restraining the fallen dark wizard, all of them making sure he was concealing no more weapons as Hermione raised a hand to massage her throbbing throat.

"Love you," Ron whispered against her ear. "Love you so bloody much..."

Smiling shakily, feeling strangely drawn and dizzy, Hermione couldn't find the energy to reply. Her smile faded, her expression shifting as she felt a damp warmth against her fingertips.

Withdrawing her left hand from her throat, she stared at it.

Red.

Odd.

My hand isn't normally red.

Looking down, she blinked at the sight of a spreading dark stain blossoming down from the collar of her thick, dark blue jumper. She could feel a dull throb in the left side of her neck, a little painful.

"R-Ron?" she stammered.

"Yeah?"

Unable to answer, she held up her shaking, scarlet-stained hand, looking up at him in confusion, her lips parted slightly. She vaguely registered him swearing and shouting Dumbledore over. The dizziness was building and her legs buckled, Ron catching her and sinking to the ground with her cradled in his arms.

She felt cold, suddenly.

So very, very cold.

"Ron...?" She stared up at him in bewilderment, wondering why he looked so scared, since Malfoy was out of the picture. Everything seemed to be slowing, her ability to think, to form simple words grinding to a painful stop.

"Hold on, Hermione," Ron whispered urgently. "Hold on."

Her vision fading out of focus, she raised her hand and touched his cheek, leaving dark crimson streaks on his near-grey face. "I love you," she whispered, before the blackness enveloped her entirely.


	11. Chapter Eleven

It was like swimming upwards from a tremendous depth, grim, grasping darkness encompassing everything. Hermione felt like she was struggling toward a distant spot of light, weighted down, kicking as hard as she could.

Screaming for someone to help her, unheard in her own mind, the light not getting any closer, she continued to fight towards it. Jolts of stabbing pain surged through her and sound, muffled and distorted, slowly reached her awareness.

"C'mon, Hermione."

Ron.

Only Ron would talk like that, but he sounded so desperately afraid and worried that she wished she could tell him that she was going to be all right, if only she could make her body reconnect with her mind.

"Mr Weasley... should go and rest... not good for you... been hours... won't help if... ill with this..." Pomfrey's voice came through in static bursts, as if she was speaking over a radio which had a distorted signal.

The conversation that passed between them were muffled, but grew clearer and Hermione's battle to reach that elusive speck of light grew more pronounced, trying to force herself back to consciousness.

"Please, Mister Weasley..."

"I'm not leaving," the words came in loud and clear and Hermione felt an explosion of joy as she was struck by the realisation that Ron was still there, by her side, right where she wanted him.

Unfortunately, the relief and delight was immediately undercut by the blinding pain that lanced through her head, a moan escaping her, as the feeling began to ripple back through her strangely numb body.

"Hermione?"

Tingles spread through her whole body, pins and needles of the worst variety, her skin prickling from her face right down to her toes, as sensations returned to her. The only good thing, she knew, was the fact that she could feel hands closed around hers.

"Hermione, love?" 

Her mother's voice. She sounded so worried, just like Ron.

With the utmost of effort, Hermione forced her eyelids open. It felt like they had been coated in lead, weighted down unbearably, the chink of an opening letting light flood into her senses, dazzling her.

"Bright..." she gasped, pressing her eyes tightly shut again, her head spinning with the sterile gleam of the wing. She heard Pomfrey mutter the spell to dim the lights of the medical wing and managed to crack her eyes open again.

Her vision blurred, disorientating, her breath hitching in her throat as she saw several forms leaning in over her, one of whom she recognised because of the flaming mass of red that capped him.

"Ron..."

She felt his strangely hot fingers contract around her cold hand, which felt boneless in his grip, felt a light kiss pressed to her knuckles. "I'm here, Hermione," he said, his voice shaking. "I'm here."

She tried to smile, but her mouth refused to co-operate. "Love you," she whispered in a hoarse voice.

"Love you too," the reply came from him instinctively, without even thinking and Hermione pressed her eyes shut briefly in secure relief. He hadn't fled the moment trouble had arisen. "How do you feel?"

Swallowing, her throat dry and sandpapery, she wet her dried-out lips with a tongue that felt mossy and dry. "Tired," she replied, her voice rasping in her throat. "Sore... thirsty too."

"Madam Pomfrey?"

Unable to find the energy to open her eyes again, she didn't struggle as she felt arms shifting her into a sitting position, a torso supporting her back with an arm loosely around her waist to hold her upright.

"Got some water, Hermione," She heard Ron's voice close to her ear. "And it's got some stinking potion in it, but Pomfrey says it'll help and let you get some sleep as well, so you have to drink it all, even if it tastes like cat pee."

Hermione felt a faint hic-giggle escape her, her head resting heavily against his shoulder. "She didn't say that," she muttered, peeling her lips apart a little wider as a cool goblet touched her lips.

"All right, she didn't," Ron agreed as she felt the bitter, cold drops hit her parched lips and tongue. Her nose wrinkled in distaste at the sour flavour but she swallowed it a little at a time, Ron holding the cup for her. There was a moment of silence, then Ron murmured in an undertone in her ear, "But she says that Mrs Norris' pee is meant to be high quality medicine."

A mouthful of the fluid seemed to go down the wrong way as she swallowed, and Hermione choked, torn between giggling or coughing. The resulting sound was a little strange to say the least.

"Mr. Weasley!" Madam Pomfrey's voice rang out clearly. "If you insist on causing our patient more trauma..."

"I'll behave, honestly!" Ron promised with the utmost sincerity coating his voice, although Hermione felt him squeeze her side gently, which almost set her giggling again. "I'll get her to take her medicine."

Madam Pomfrey harrumphed, but it seemed to lack in her usual enthusiasm.

It seemed an eternity before all the cool, slick fluid had slid down Hermione's still protesting throat, warmth spreading through her body as it took effect and she felt her energy returning a little at a time.

Opening her eyes weakly, she found she was still settled comfortably in Ron's arms, his limbs sticking in all directions off the bed that she was occupying. He gave her a half-smile and dropped a kiss on her forehead.

"How are you feeling, Hermione?" 

Shifting her eyes towards the side of the bed, she found her mother sitting, her father standing right behind her. Both of them were white in the face and looked like they had aged twenty years in the few hours since she had seen them.

At least she assumed it was a couple of hours, judging by the fact that the sky was tinted with a dark lick of bloody red, a sure sign that the sun was sinking below the horizon and since she had gone to the meeting with Dumbledore at barely noon...

Yes, it had to be a few hours at least.

"I'm tired," she whispered, stretching out a hand, which felt like it was weighted down, her mother's fingers closing around hers and squeezing. "You... you look tired too. Are you all right?"

Her mother smiled weakly. "We're fine, love," she said, her voice tremulous. "We were just worried about you, but you're going to be fine." 

"And you're looking much better already," her father added with a weak smile down at her. His eyes were puffy and red-rimmed and it looked like he had been crying or close to it.

"What..." Her memory seemed to be a big blank spot. She remembered Malfoy. She remembered hurting him. She remembered becoming aware of a pain in her neck. And then... then what? Darkness? Was that all? So tired, she closed her eyes again, letting her head rest against Ron's shoulder. "What happened?"

"That filthy bastard used his knife on you, love," Ron answered. His voice was a savage growl and his arms tightened around her possessively, giving her the feeling of being wrapped up on the warmest, safest blanket she had ever felt. "He cut you... you were bleeding so much... thought we were... but you're okay..."

"I... remember," She nodded slowly, one hand rising to touch the wad of bandage that was bound over her jugular, although it was probably entirely unnecessary due to Pomfrey's healing charms. "Did I lose a lot?"

"You have had transfusions of sanguine supplements and other fluids," Pomfrey's voice cut in over Ron. "You lost a great deal of blood, but you were brought here quickly enough to ensure that you will survive." 

Survive.

Survive?

Her eyes snapped open and she struggled to sit up, one hand going to her stomach in panic. "The baby!" she demanded shrilly, bitter heat coursing through her veins at the thought of losing it. "What about the baby?"

Ron seemed to stiffen, but he was the one who replied. "It's fine," he said, although his tone was wooden. "You didn't lose it."

Folding both her arms over her stomach, Hermione sank against him again, pressing her eyes closed, unable to understand why she felt so relieved to know that she hadn't lost the child.

She hadn't wanted it, so what had changed that?

Then, she remembered what _he_ had said.

He had called it a 'filthy little bastard brat', he had reduced it to the same base terms that he had referred to her in and she knew, knew without question, that she was going to prove him wrong.

It wasn't a bastard brat. It was her child, her own baby, part of her and she was going to make damn sure that it didn't suffer and die for where it had come from. She would prove him wrong again, with his own child as evidence.

"He won't get you," she whispered to the insensible bump of her stomach, her voice shaking, as she ran her hands over the swell. "I'll look after you... he won't hurt you like he hurt me... you're mine now. You'll show him... we'll show him..."

In her mind's eyes, she could see the little creature growing inside her, a tiny version of her, a beautiful baby that would be perfect and would never, in a thousand years, end up like the line from which it came.

A hand overlaying hers jolted her from her reverie and she looked up to find Ron gazing at her intently. "You're going to keep it?" he asked. Hermione swallowed hard, her throat tightening. If she had to lose Ron again, because of the baby...

"Ron..."

His eyes lingered on their hands for several minutes, then he raised his eyes to her, his expression making her tremble and it wasn't from fear. "Well, the squirt's going to need some kind of male role model..." he said hesitantly. "Isn't it?"

"Y-you...?"

His lips twitched in a suggestion of a forced smile. "Yeah... you might have to give me some time to get used to the idea, but it's yours, Hermione, and you know I'll love anything of yours... even that bloody cat, given time."

"But this... this is different, Ron..."

Different.

If she had ever claimed to extol the virtues of the understatement, this was one of those occasions. One word quite simply covered everything about the situation: how wrong it was, how it had been the cause of all their hurt, how it would remind them of what had happened.

"Hermione," A hand came up to cradle her face. "I almost lost you twice this year, once by being a pillock and again because of that bastard and I nearly went completely off the wall. If you tell me that I'm going to have to lose you again..." He shook his head, his eyes holding hers, bright with unshed tears. "Please... please don't let me lose you again... I know I'm not the best person in the world but I want to be there with you, if you'll have me. I want to stay with you forever and if I have to help you with this baby, if I have to run starkers through the Ministry of Magic, if I have to chop off my own legs... anything you need me to do, I'll do it...just don't make me leave you again... please..."

Hermione wanted to make a coherent reply, she really did. Unfortunately, her mind appeared to have partaken of tabula rasa, completely and utterly wiped of coherent thought as she stared at him.

The only sound that managed to escape her was a faint 'meep'.

"I think," She heard her mother's voice. "What my daughter's expression says is that she's very grateful, she doesn't understand how you could want to do what you just offered, but she's delighted that you feel that way."

Ron's eyes didn't move from hers and Hermione assured herself that she was rapidly turning into a puddle of goo. Either that or she was going to burst into flames and be left as nothing more than a cinder, if he kept on staring at her like that.

"You don't understand why I'd want to do this?" he said softly, his voice low and shaking a little. Hermione was hugely proud of herself when she managed to blink. "I think that's easy - I love you."

What bones were left in Hermione's body seemed to turn to mush at the words. Yes, she had heard them before, but never spoken with the reverence with which he said them now, his fingertips tracing the outline of her features.

Piecing through the remnants of her giddy mind, Hermione tried to find the words to express the sheer emotion she was feeling, the relief, the joy, the melancholy, the sense of bittersweet triumph...

In spite of her knowledge, in spite of all the books she had extensively read, in spite of everything that she knew, there was only one thing that she could find to say, her body gradually drifting towards exhausted sleep, drawing her mind with it.

Her head resting on Ron's shoulder, she spread a hand on his chest.

"Mine," she whispered drowsily, closing her eyes.

"S'right, love," Ron murmured against her brow, stroking curls back from her cheek gently. His words were the last thing she heard as she was enveloped by much-needed sleep. "Always yours."

***

It was barely two hours later when she finally woke from the potion, feeling oddly relaxed and refreshed. As her awareness returned, she realised she was lying against a warm, jumper-clad chest and arms were around her.

Opening her eyes, she found dark green woollen material in front of her.

A soft snore made her smile, closing her eyes again, quite comfortable just lying there with him, one arm looped around Ron's waist, his familiar, cosy Weasley smell wonderfully reassuring.

One of his hands was moving in circles on her side, even though Ron was apparently fast asleep, a blanket separating them. Little puffs of his breath were ruffling her hair and she snuggled closer. 

From what she had seen, he was still wearing the clothes he had been wearing when she had been injured, which meant that he hadn't even left her side, even though it had been hours before, which made that little happy feeling ripple through her again.

Mentally, she played back every word he had said to her from the moment he had emerged from under the invisibility cloak in the Head Master's office, the words of love, the look in his eyes, his arms around her.

Her heart felt like it was swelling with happiness as she remembered his most recent promise, knowing that he loved her that much, knowing he was willing to stay with her no matter what.

Now, if only he and Harry would get back on speaking terms, she knew everything would be perfect.

Their incredibly tight-knit three-point friendship had been one of the things that had made Hogwarts become home for her and the idea of that friendship being destroyed was more than she could stand thinking about.

She knew that she couldn't stand to lose either of them, but she also knew that if they didn't start talking again, then she would be forced to choose between her best friend and her boyfriend and that was a choice she knew she couldn't make.

As soon as Harry came up to the wing, she decided, they would sit down and talk and sort everything out. 

The rustle of the curtains made her jolt upright instantly, grabbing for her wand where it always lay on the nightstand and pointing it shakily at the figure who had just stepped through the drapes. 

Beside her, Ron popped up, startled, squinting around blearily. "Wha?"

A gasp of relief escaped Hermione when she realised that it was the Head Master standing there, one hand spread on her chest as she tried to slow the frantic pounding of her heart.

"I apologise," Dumbledore said gently. "It appears that I startled you, Miss Granger."

Nodding, Hermione swallowed hard, her breath escaping in pants. "Just a little," she replied, half-laughing faintly. Lowering her wand, her smile was shaky. "Silly me... I-I thought you were someone else..."

Ron's arm slid around her shoulder and she pressed against his side, bowing her head and pressing her hands to her forehead. Drawing calming breaths, she ran her hands over her cheeks, then lifted her face to the Head Master again.

"S-sorry about that," she stammered. "I-I'm still a little jumpy."

"Love?" She looked at Ron. "Is... is this what you've been like all this time?" She paused, then nodded reluctantly. "Oh, Hermione..." The guilt and pain that crossed his face made her forgive him a hundred times over. "I should have been there for you. I should have helped you."

Looking up at him, she lowered her head to rest on his shoulder. "You're here now, Ron," she said, his arms tightening around her. "That's what counts." His chin nudged the top of her head and she raised her eyes to Dumbledore. "What's happening?"

"I thought I ought to inform you that Lucius Malfoy has been formally charged by the Ministry of Magic and will stand trial as soon as is possible," he said. "Although he still protests his innocence and that he was acting under imperius."

Ron said something that his mother would have washed his mouth out for, which questioned Malfoy's lineage, suggested that the wizard did things no normal wizard would do with his wand and implied something about intimate relations with sheep.

If she hadn't been feeling so very sick, Hermione knew she would have laughed.

"It is unlikely that he was under any curse," Dumbledore agreed. "However, he does have the fact that many would attest that he would never touch a muggle-born in a gesture of politeness, let alone an intimate way."

Hermione pressed her knuckles against her lips, crushing them against her teeth hard enough to draw blood, the tangy, metallic taste bitter on her tongue as she blinked down tears. 

"That's probably why he did it!" Ron exclaimed savagely. "Because no one would believe he would touch a muggle-born!"

"He might still get away with it," Hermione whispered, her shaking voice muffled by the hand still pressed against her mouth. She felt hot and cold at once, dizziness whirling around her. "He-he could use that to argue his point."

Dumbledore approached the bed, his expression grave. "I know this seems hopeless at the moment, Hermione," he said softly. "But he has placed himself in a precarious position. We will ensure that he will be charged and condemned for what he has done to you."

Wiping fugitive tears with the back of her hand, Hermione nodded, sniffing hard. "I-I want to see him r-rot," she whispered with vehemence. "He-he isn't going to get to hurt anyone else like this. No one else." 

"That's my girl," Ron squeezed her proudly.

Smiling wanly, Hermione laid her head against his collarbone, systematically wiping away the tears that continued to slide, unsolicited, down her chilly face. "P-Professor, where did my parents go?"

"I believe they have joined Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout for the evening meal, Miss Granger," Dumbledore replied. "They did not believe you would wake for some time, but if you wish to see them presently..."

Hermione shook her head. "No," she said, sniffing a little. "Let them have their dinner. I-I don't want to distract them." There was a moment of silence, then she hesitantly asked. "Could... could someone get Harry?"

There was a sound of surprise from Ron.

"Wait a minute," he said, looking down at Hermione. "He... he knew what you were doing, didn't he?" Hermione nodded, confusion on her face. "Why hasn't he showed up here, yet? I mean, he knows you'd be here after and he'd want to be here..."

Hermione's brow tightened, a nervous swoop of sickness in her stomach. "Well, it was the last Hogsmeade weekend before Christmas, isn't it?" she suggested, an edge of uneasiness in her voice. "Maybe he decided to do last minute shopping. Did he tell you where he was going?"

"Why would he tell me?" Ron looked bemused.

"The cloak... wasn't that Harry's?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Actually, Miss Granger, that cloak was provided by me. We did intend to use Harry's, but Harry had already left the common room with his broom by the time we went to find him."

"He did say he wanted to do some training," Hermione acknowledged, fingering the blankets that covered her legs pensively. "Maybe he went to Hogsmeade after. He is awfully disorganised when it comes to Christmas."

"That is certainly very true," the Head master smiled slightly. "And I do know that most of the remaining seniors did go into Hogsmeade together. They ought to be back shortly, in time for the evening meal. Do you want me to have Harry come here at once, when they return?"

Hermione nodded at once. "Please."

She needed to see him, to tell him what happened that afternoon, to have both him and Ron to keep her safe and make her laugh, like they always did before Malfoy had come and ruined everything.

And to rebuild the shattered relationship between Ron and Harry.

More than anything, she needed both of them.

"And tell him..." Ron began, faltered, then finished. "Tell him he can come and beat the stuffing out of my for being a twit."

"I'll be sure to relay the message on," the Head Master said with a sympathetic smile at Ron. He looked at Hermione. "Do you wish to have anything to eat presently, Miss Granger? You will need to rebuild your strength."

"Just a sandwich," she replied shakily. "I-I think that's all I could manage to keep down at the moment."

Dumbledore nodded and was gone.

Madam Pomfrey flitted in briefly and crammed some chocolate into Hermione's mouth, doling some out to the rather startled Ron for good measure, leaving them both - in Hermione's opinion - resembling hamsters.

Leaning into Ron's embrace, Hermione was happy to just be in his arms again, warm and safe.

"Are you all right?" Ron asked softly, several minutes later.

The absurdity of the whole situation poured in on her with those four words: she had had her throat cut by the father of her illegitimate child, created when she was raped, and was lying in the hospital wing in the arms of her until-recently-estranged boyfriend after waving her wand threateningly at the Head Master and Ron asked if she was all right.

Unable to stop it, a hysterical little giggle escaped her.

"Er..."

Wrapping her arms tightly around Ron, who seemed utterly bemused by her reaction, she started laughing earnest, although she couldn't explain the tears streaming down her face. "I've missed you so much," she gasped between giggles.

"And you laughing and crying at the same time is a good thing, is it?" he asked awkwardly. Hermione managed to stop laughing long enough to wipe her face on the back of her hand and nod, fresh tears replacing those she just mopped up. "Bloody hell, Hermione... have you left a tap running in there or something?"

"Ron..." she started to chastise, laughing again as she swatted his chest.

Raising his hand, he caught the sleeve of his jumper in his teeth and pulled it down over his hand, then gently wiped the streaks of salty tears from her pale cheeks, with a small smile. "Better?"

"Well, I do actually need to blow my nose," she admitted, sniffing hard and raising her eyebrows in question.

Ron looked down at his jumper. "If I wasn't wearing it, I might well have let you do that, love," he said, his jumper-covered hand still touching her cheek. He gave her an affectionate look that sent her heart in a wild bungee leap from her chest to her toes and back again.

Her hand that was pressed against his chest hesitantly moved up, pausing, shaking at his collar. Their eyes locked, held unbearably, and Hermione wet her suddenly-dry lips with her tongue, her heart fluttering rapidly. 

Sliding her hand over his shoulder, she ran her fingers into the unruly ginger tufts of hair that were sticking up in all directions. Ron made no move to push her or stop her, never taking his eyes from hers.

Licking her lips again, a nervous gesture, she felt a rush of warmth as Ron's lips curled into the most understanding smile she had ever seen. He knew, somehow, that she needed to be the one to bring them together, that she had to face the fear.

She drew several slow breaths to calm her jolting nerves, then timidly drew Ron's lips down onto hers, her eyes closing as they met. His lips were warm, dry and soft, the traces of chocolate lingering on them.

Her other hand rose to press against his chest as he hesitantly returned the kiss, his embrace gentle, more gentle than she could imagine Ron being, one hand stroking through her hair, the other arm around her body and spread on her back.

A little sigh of pleasure escaped her as he drew back, his fingers - liberated from the jumper - caressing her cheek. Her eyes felt too heavy to open and she felt utterly contented and satisfied right at that moment.

He had treated her like she was made of the most fragile glass, holding her with the care she needed now, if she was to become accustomed to people touching her again and he had made her tingle right down to her toes.

"All right?" Ron's voice broke into her thoughts.

Half-opening her eyes, snuggled cosily against his chest, Hermione nodded with a small smile. "Just enjoying the moment," she replied throatily, her head coming to rest against his shoulder again, fingers walking back down his chest.

"Is this one of those times that I should say something important?" he asked. She felt him frown against her brow, her own lips twitching in a smile. "Or is this one of those times when we're quiet? Or both? Is it possible to do both?"

Rubbing her head against his shoulder, she raised her hand and pressed her fingertips to his lips. "Ron," she murmured. "Sh."

"So this is one of those be-quiet things, eh?"

"Ron."

"I know, I know. Sh."

Hermione smiled as he leaned back against the pillows and let her curl closer against his chest, his arms around her. "Yes," she acknowledged drowsily, spreading a palm over his heart. "Sh."

***

She must have slept again, although she didn't realise.

Her eyes felt unbearably heavy, but she was aware when she heard voices nearing and felt Ron shake her shoulder, stirring her from her somnambulistic state. Sitting up, she felt his arm around her shoulder, safe.

Blinking, rubbing her eyes with one hand, she glanced towards the window and was startled to see that the moon was hanging, a gleaming grin, high in the dark velvet of the night sky, which was sprinkled with stars and dashes of cloud.

The curtains by the bed opened and the Head Master and Professor McGonagall both looked in, consternation written on their faces.

"Miss Granger, Mr Weasley, has Mr Potter visited recently?"

"Harry?" Hermione looked up at Ron, who appeared as confused as she felt. A sick feeling of foreboding spread in her stomach. "No. I-I thought he was in Hogsmeade... and you were waiting until he got back?" 

Professor McGonagall's lips thinned, her face pale and more tired-looking than Hermione could remember it being. "We have spoken to the Senior students who went to Hogsmeade. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan invited Mr Potter to join them, but he declined. He claimed he was going to practise on the Quidditch field."

"Maybe he's still down there!" Hermione exclaimed, pulling the blankets back with the intention of running down to the pitch to prove that Harry was - in fact - there, but her vision was already blurring dizzily. "Oh..."

"Easy, Hermione," Ron helped her sit back down, her body feeling oddly numb. "I don't think you should try and do anything yet. You need to let your blood thing get back to normal."

"But Harry..." Hermione protested. "Professor Dumbledore, send someone to the pitch! He's probably there."

"For eight hours?" McGonagall said. "Miss Granger...."

"He loves Quidditch!" Hermione knew her voice was shrill and panicked, but she shook her head determinedly. "He has to be there! If he isn't, maybe he's at Hagrid's or in the common room!" 

"Have you tried Hagrid?" Ron added, his hands on Hermione's upper arms, gently drawing her back against his chest. Her head was pulsing painfully and she squeezed her temples, wincing.

"I'm afraid that Hagrid has not seen Harry all day," Dumbledore replied, his voice tired. "We also sent someone to check the Quidditch pitch. There was no sign of him there, either. I need to ask both of you if there would be any reason that Harry would depart from the school."

"He wouldn't!" Hermione exclaimed, as vehemently as she could, the fingertips of her left hand pressing against her temple, her other hand gripping one of Ron's as the head ache continued to throb inside her skull. "He wouldn't leave me... he promised."

"Miss Granger, we are aware of this, but..."

"You think You-Know-Who got to him," Ron's voice sounded strangely deadened, his hand shaking against Hermione's and she realised that he was probably right. Her eyes lifted, staring at the two teachers, who exchanged looks.

"Oh no..." she whispered, shaking her head, an immense fist contracting on her gut and twisting hard until she felt utterly sick with shock and dismay. "No... he can't have taken Harry..."

"We don't yet know what has happened, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said in what Hermione supposed was meant to be a soothing tone, which did absolutely nothing to help. "He might be somewhere within the school we have not considered."

"Like where?" Hermione challenged hysterically.

"Hermione," Dumbledore's voice was measured and calm as always. "There are many areas in the school and it is possible that Harry received word and went to meet Snuffles, as he is nearby."

"Snuffles..." Ron slowly nodded. "Yeah, he would want to see Snuffles..."

"But he wouldn't go on his own! He would always take..." Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening in sudden, horrified realisation. "Oh no... Ron!" One hand grasped at Ron's jumper. "He was on his own! Harry was completely on his own!"

She felt the colour draining from her face, her breathing growing staggered and she heard Ron swear in stunned understanding, as he realised just what she was saying.

"Miss Granger, just because Mister Potter was alone..."

"No," Hermione interrupted, her voice shrill. "You don't understand. Harry is never on his own. Ever since You-Know-Who returned, we've always made sure that he had someone with him when we were here. Always. And today, he... he was alone. It's the chance You-Know-Who has been waiting for... and now, he has him."

Dumbledore's expression was tight, but he tried to smile in a reassuring fashion. "I do not think it wise to make such assumptions yet, Miss Granger," he said, although it lacked his usual enthusiasm.

"It's too late for making assumptions," Hermione said, her voice trembling. "He has him. You-Know-Who has Harry."

"I'm afraid Miss Granger is right," another voice said a heartbeat before Professor Snape stepped through the drapes, his face pale and sheened with sweat. He appeared to be having trouble standing upright, leaning heavily on the table at the foot of the bed. "Potter was delivered to the Dark Lord this evening."

He had not approached either of them since he had told Ron about his girlfriend's secret and Ron's glare was only countered by the anxiety in the red-haired boy's dark brown eyes.

While Snape deplored the trio of friends, in particular Harry, and the feeling was reciprocated, they had known of his double-agent role since the middle of fifth year. He could speak in front of them, when he needed to talk with Dumbledore and they were present, although he only did so in great emergencies. 

"Were you summoned?" Hermione demanded shrilly. "Did you see him? Have they hurt him? How did they get him? What happened?"

"Hermione," The Head Master made a calming gesture for silence, then turned to the Potions Professor, who was looking sickly and wan. "Severus, have you seen him? Is he still alive?"

"For the time being, yes," Snape replied, pressing one hand to his forehead. "He is to be executed ritually as a lesson within the next few days."

"Is he unharmed?"

A shadow passed over Snape's features. "Young Malfoy was the one to deliver him with a portkey. He allowed his lackeys to beat the boy into unconsciousness. The Dark Lord was not pleased. He wishes... that is, he wants the boy to be... intact for the ceremony."

"Ceremony?"

"I-I do not know the details," the Potions Professor's eyes were sliding in and out of focus and Hermione felt a bitter taste of sympathy for the man, who clearly suffered a great deal in his attempt to make amends. "Nor could I gain access to his cell, because he is aware of who I am. I am uncertain how many of the circle are permitted access."

"We could send help," Hermione said urgently. "Send Aurors..."

"No," Snape's voice was a rasping growl, his breathing staggered. "Even if we knew where they were holding him, should they attack, Potter would be dead before they even breached the wards."

"You have no idea where they are, Severus?"

His hand still pressed to his forehead, Snape shook his head, a tight, jerking motion, his eyes closed. "I tried to identify the locale, Head Master, but they have placed unplottable charms on it. They are taking no chances."

"Very well," Dumbledore raised a hand to squeeze Snape's shoulder. "I trust you will be seeing Pomfrey immediately, Severus." The dark teacher nodded, that same, jerky movement again, his right hand grasping his left forearm, his fingers twitching convulsively. "Take some rest."

"I-I am sorry that I could not do more to aid you, sir," For the briefest of moments, Snape almost seemed like a child apologising to his father and Hermione looked from him to Dumbledore.

"You did all that you could, Severus," the Head Master answered softly. "I could not ask for more than that. Seek rest and recover your strength."

The dark teacher disappeared through the curtains and Hermione, still enclosed in Ron's arms, pressed her face into her hands for a long moment. "What are we going to do?" she asked unsteadily, her fingertips grinding against her temples bruisingly.

Dumbledore had never looked older, every care in the world weighting down his frail, stooped shoulders, his face lined with sorrow. He closed his eyes, grief palpable, and voice carried all the despair, anger, grief and hurt she knew she was feeling, when he replied, "I am afraid there is nothing we can do."

"What?" Ron half-shouted. "But Harry! He can't kill Harry!"

Hermione could feel the prickling burn behind her eyes of tears of anger, despair and frustration. "He can, Ron," she forced the words out bitterly. "He can and he will and he knows we can't do damned a thing to stop him." 


	12. Chapter Twelve

****

Author notes: Apologies for this chapter taking a while, but after a) the cliff hanger of the last chapter and b) the plans for this one getting lost, then re-plotted slightly because of one tiny plot thing that had been bugging the crap out of me, its taken me a while to piece things together (It eventually came to me while cooking pasta. Have to love the muse for being so strangely inspired by such things). Plus, uni work. Ick. Anyway, here it is :)  
Oh, for those who wondered, don't forget Lavender and Parvati went home for the Christmas holidays - they've only been gone a week, but since then, all this has happened. Not bad, eh? :)  
Also, for those of you are interested, I have a mailing list () for questions, comments and advanced warning of updates :)  
Anyway, I hope you enjoy the fic. It will now go to 16 chapters, due to an abundance of information to be dealt with. Hope you don't mind :) Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ten hours had passed since news of Harry´s kidnap had reached his two friends in the Medical wing and, in those hours, Hermione could honestly believe that they had run through every possible emotion on the spectrum.

There was no question of sleeping through the night, not one.

Hermione´s parents had come to the wing as soon as they heard she was awake, but she told them that they had to leave, that if Voldemort did succeed, the wizarding world wasn´t going to be safe for them to be around.

They had refused to leave her initially, but when Hermione had broken down into pained, wracking sobs, desperately pleading that they get away to somewhere that might be safer than the school or wizarding world, they had reluctantly acquiesced, although they had tried to convince her to join them.

She couldn´t though.

Leaving Hogwarts now would mean leaving Ron behind and showing that she felt there was no hope for Harry´s survival, which she couldn´t do. There had to be hope. There always had to be. If not, what was life worth living for?

Through a window in the medical wing, she had watched her parents depart from the school across the grounds to take a portkey home, wrapped up in her dressing gown, ignoring Madam Pomfrey´s orders to get back into bed.

Even after they had long gone, she remained, standing by the window, staring blindly out through the glass as she turned things over and over in her mind, trying not to give way to grief or hysteria.

Every time she thought of Harry, of the hurt he must have gone through already, it was like a physical blow that threatened to double her over and leave her writhing in agony on the floor.

And it was her fault, too, she knew.

Turning around, blinking hard, her arms tightly wrapped around her body but still doing nothing to stave of the chill that went to her very bones, she made her way over to her unmade bed, sitting down amidst the tangled blankets.

Outside, the pale smear of bluish light spreading up from the dark horizon suggested that dawn was on its way, the near-clear sky splattered with dashes of pale, frail-looking wisps of cloud.

Pulling her knees up to her chest, Hermione drew the blankets up to her chin, which was resting atop her knees, blinking hard. Her arms clamped tightly around her legs, her hands were clenched under her chin.

Birdsong outside the windows sounded painfully loud and far too happy for her to deal with, the way she was feeling. As silent tears leaked down her cheeks, she wanted to scream at them to shut up.

Her best friend, the person she could talk to about everything, was gone and it was her fault.

If she hadn´t tried to be brave and strong, if she hadn´t asked to face Lucius Malfoy, she would have remained in the medical wing and Harry would have been with her and he would never have been taken.

On top of that, if she hadn´t been such a selfish idiot and acted like a frightened little girl every time Ron had come near her, Ron and Harry wouldn´t have fallen out and Harry wouldn´t have been on his own for Malfoy Junior to get to him.

It would have been better, she knew, if she had not come back to Hogwarts this year.

Everything would have been so much easier for everyone: Malfoy would not have got to her, she wouldn´t have upset everything, Ron and Harry would never have fallen out and left each other unprotected.

Curling into a ball on her side in the middle of the bed, she pressed her eyes shut, determined not to cry, her eyes burning from too many tears shed already. Pressing her lips together so hard, she could taste blood, she wound her hands into the blankets and tried to force down the urges she had to hurt herself for causing so much pain.

Her fists in the sheets pressed against her breastbone and she could feel the skin bruising, which only made her press harder, wishing she could have someone, anyone slap her for being such an idiot, for bringing such misery and pain on the people she cared about most.

Everything that Malfoy had said to her rang back in her ears, taunting her, mocking her, reminding her of how her friends did not need her, that they would have been so much better without her.

If Ron had been present, she would have asked him to do it, but he was gone.

He probably would have refused anyway, because Ron had always said he would never hit a girl, but if he was as angry at her as she felt towards herself, then she knew there was a real chance he would want to smack her a shot.

But he wasn´t present, once again.

As soon as her parents had arrived, he had stalked out of the medical wing, a look of bitter rage on his face, the expression that had been directed at her not so many days ago back in full measure.

Who it was directed at, though, she didn´t know.

All she knew was that it felt like Ron couldn´t face her again, in spite of everything, although she wasn´t sure if that was really the case. He hadn´t even said anything before leaving, his face so white that every freckle stood out in sharp relief.

She didn´t know how she would be able to face him, if he did come back to her side, though. Would he blame her, like she blamed herself? Would he try to pretend that it wasn´t her fault that all this was happening?

Bringing her chin down to rest on her chest, she pressed her clenched fists against her chin and lips, rocking unsteadily back and forth, wishing that she could escape the suddenly claustrophobic atmosphere of the immense wing.

Madam Pomfrey had refused to let her depart, though.

All she wanted to do was go deep into the school, find a nice, dark corner of a room, curl up in it and never come out, so no one she cared about could ever be hurt again by her and her stupidity.

There was the ulterior motive as well.

She wanted to hunt down Draco Malfoy and to hex him with all the spells she could remember, to within an inch of his life, then kick him until that inch was left as little more than a millimetre, then leave him to rot.

That was unlikely to happen, though.

After all, he had just delivered Harry to the Dark Lord, so it was hardly likely that he was going to come back to the school, unless he believed that he had got away with it and thought that no one knew.

Of course, there was the chance he wouldn´t be able to keep his mouth shut

To take the responsibility for Harry´s capture and dea... no! NO! The vehemence of the thought made her jolt on the mattress. No, she couldn´t start to think like that! She couldn´t imagine Harry would die.

He had overcome tremendous obstacles before! He could do it again.

He could.

He had to.

He _promised_.

__

But how is he meant to defeat You-Know-Who?, the malicious little voice at the back of her mind hissed. It had been silent since she had been in Dumbledore´s office, but now, alone and in the silence of the ward, it rasped in her ears. _He doesn´t even have a wand with him!_

"He´ll be all right," Hermione whispered stubbornly against her clenched fist, the knuckles white. She could taste blood on her lips, some slight pain from where they had been crushed against her teeth. Smears of red licked the pale skin. "He will be."

__

You don´t believe it.

I do! I do I do I do I do!

Who are you trying to convince?

Shut up! Harry´ll be all right! He´ll be fine!

Of course he will. And Malfoy will apologise.

Squeezing her eyes shut and grinding her teeth together, Hermione could feel hot moisture leak down her cheeks, soaking the pillows. Her body shuddered, the frenzied rocking reduced to violent tremors.

Tossing onto her back, then her side again, Hermione tried to push the thoughts of Harry being dead away, but they kept crowding in on her. Whispering. Murmuring. Terrifying her to the point that she scrambled out of the bed, collapsing onto the floor as her legs melted out beneath her with a half-sob, half-scream.

The curtains around the bed were flung wide almost instantly and Madam Pomfrey hurried in, stopping short, her expression one of shock as Hermione lifted her face, which was contorted in pain and misery.

"Miss Granger..."

A ticklish trickle ran down Hermione´s chin and she raised a shaking hand, her fingertips coming away, stained red. Staring blankly at her hand, which was shaking she noticed absently, she started to laugh.

She couldn´t say why, but the laughter just bubbled out of her, hysterical, ringing to the rafters of the medical wings. It hung there, echoing into silence, like the deranged howls of a madwoman.

Hugging her arms across her chest, leaving bloody fingerprints on the sleeve of her nightshirt, still laughing in wild little spurts, she started rocking on her knees. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

"Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey´s skirts swam into her unfocussed line of sight and she felt hands on her shoulders, as the nurse seemed to sink down, her heavy dress skirts spreading on the floor. "Miss Granger, I need you to look at me."

Shaking her head jerkily, Hermione´s laughter gave way to choked whimpers. "He´s gone... he´s gone and he promised he would stay... he promised... he promised me he would stay... and he´s gone..."

A hand touched her chin, lifting it and she tried to find the strength to pull away, but her body refused to comply and she found grey-blue eyes staring at her with concern and worry. "Miss Granger, it will..."

"Don´t tell me it´ll be all right!"

The words tore from Hermione´s throat in a frenzied scream, as she jerked back from the nurse, slamming against the wall behind the head of the bed. Shaking her head, her hair swirling around her face, her breathing grew ragged.

"Don´t you _dare _to lie to me... don´t you dare..." she panted, pointing accusingly at the nurse, whose expression was one of anxiety. She felt so angry, like a flame had been lit beneath her and everything was boiling to the surface, ready to explode in a fit of violent fury. She had never been violent before, but Hermione had never wanted to break something more than she did as she turned on Pomfrey. "He´s gone! You-Know-Who has him! Don´t try and patronise me!"

Pomfrey´s face went chalk-white, red blotches appearing on her cheeks, like they did on Snape´s when he was utterly livid. Her lips pressed together, clearly struggling to control her own emotions.

She was probably worried about Harry, Hermione knew. She probably was feeling the anger that Hermione felt towards herself. Why would they care about her, the stupid girl who caused it all? She was the one who had sent The-Boy-Who-Lived, her best, most trusted friend, to his doom.

"I was not..."

"You were... you were going to tell me everything´ll be all right... and that no one will hate me... blame me... point at me... say it´s my fault..." Her words trailed off into shaking sobs. "M-my fault... it´s all my fault..."

Hands on her shoulders startled her, started to draw her towards a comforting body to soothe her, but Hermione went rigid, her eyes widening. How could she be comforted when Harry was dying? How could she be so selfish?

"Get off me!"

Lunging forward, she knocked Pomfrey over, scrambling to her feet and running. A cry after her didn´t stop her. Where she was going, she didn´t know. All she did know was that she had to get away from the medical wing, away from the sympathy, away from the pity, from anything.

Her bare feet slapped against the cold stone of the floor, the frosty air catching her breath, puffs of crystal-white pouring from her cut lips. The chill stung her bare skin through her thin nightshirt, goosebumps rising all over.

Staggering to a stop, her arms crossed over her chest in a vain attempt to warm herself, she looked around, unsure where to go, the tears on her cheeks stinging as the cold pricked at them

A gust of ice-crisp fresh air swept down the hall, wrapping the loose, flapping fabric of her nightshirt around her ankles, the scent of the winter morning outside flooding her senses.

In spite of the cold, Hermione made her way towards the staircase, the whole school quiet, as it usually was so early in the morning. The floor grew increasingly chilled, her feet clumping heavily - numbed - on the stone.

By the time she reached the main door, her teeth were clattering together, but she still pushed the door open, her eyes screwing up as she pushed the door open, the brilliant whiteness of the sun on the snow dazzling her.

Stepping out of the door, a hiss of shock escaped her as the dusty crystals of ice stung at the soles of her bare feet, penetrating the numbness like shards of glass, her arms tightening over her chest.

"Hermione?"

Ron.

Closing her eyes, Hermione pressed her lips together, tears stinging on her cheeks at the familiar voice, only paces behind her. She heard him nearing, cautious, as if afraid of causing further damage.

"Love, what are you doing out here? You´ll catch your death..."

Hot tears dripped onto her sleeves, soaking rapidly through the thin material. "Maybe it would be better for everyone if I did," she whispered, her voice shaking so much with cold and misery that it was barely comprehensible.

She heard, almost visualised the sharp intake of breath. "Hermione!" He approached and she winced when he laid large hands on her shoulders. They weren´t warm, but compared to her the heat felt like it had scorched her skin. "Don´t say that!"

Shaking his hands off, Hermione turned to face him, shivering. Even so, it felt like her stomach was even colder than the rest of her, solidifying into an agonisingly tight mass. "T-tell me it´s not my fault," she stammered. "T-t-tell me that if I h-hadn´t been here, th-they would still have got H-Harry."

Brown eyes looked down at her with a combination of shock and pain, his hands coming up to almost, but not quite touch her shoulders. "Is that what this is about?" he asked, staring at her.

"Tell me!" she sobbed wildly, jerking back from his hands, her own shaking hands rising to clamp against her temples, her fingertips biting painfully into her scalp. "Tell me it´s not my fault!" Her voice rose in pitch and hysteria. "Tell me that me being a stupid, selfish little girl who couldn´t deal with my own problems is nothing to do with Harry getting taken and hurt! Tell me I did nothing to cause this! Tell me it wasn´t because of me!"

There was a brief silence that seemed to hang for eternity, although it could have barely lasted a heartbeat, then Ron replied quietly.

"It wasn´t you."

Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn´t that.

Hermione felt like a massive weight had been lifted from her shoulders, her hands slowly sinking down from her face. "Wh-what did you say?" she whispered, her throat so tight she could barely form the words.

"I said," Ron repeated gently, so careful, taking a step towards her. "It wasn´t you. You would never be the cause of something like this." He slowly extended a hand to her and nodded in assent when she tried to shake her head. "You know I´m right, Hermione. This wasn´t your fault. It was them. It was never, ever you."

Unable to smother a violent sob, she crashed straight into Ron´s arms, wrapping herself entirely in his embrace, the heat of his body spreading through her own, which was as cold as marble.

"Bloody hell, Hermione! You´re freezing! How long have you been out here?"

The energy to reply, the words she wanted to say, they were all gone, silenced, and she could only stare up at him helplessly as tears burned silent acid furrows down the chilled porcelain of her skin.

Ron peeled off the thick, green woolly jumper he was wearing, which was bobbled and faded from too many washes, yanking it over her head and lifting her arms to tuck them into the over-long sleeves. It hung almost to her knees.

"Let´s get you back to the wing," he suggested, only pausing to lift her hair free from the collar of the jumper, before bending slightly and lifting her up in his arms, her own arms wrapping tightly around his neck.

Pressing her face to the junction of his neck and shoulder, she clung to him, warmth seeping back into her icy body.

He was murmuring to her, she couldn´t make out what, but it assured her that her numb arms and body weren´t deceiving her and that he was still present, holding her so securely.

"R-Ron," she whispered, as he made his way up one of the broad staircases, carrying her as if she weighed less than a child. "Wh-where were you?"

His lips brushed against her temple. "Sirius and Remus were here," he replied in an undertone. "Dumbledore was explaining what was happening and I wanted to know what the plans were... I didn´t think it would take so long."

"Plans?" She felt his arms tighten around her and the tensing of his jaw, a sure sign that he hadn´t been pleased with the outcome. "Ron?"

"S´like Dumbledore said last night," the reply came tersely, his arms shifting beneath her. "They can´t do anything. They haven´t got a clue where he is and there´s no way they can find out without him getting even deeper in trouble."

Deeper in trouble.

As if being in Voldemort´s hands wasn´t bad enough.

"They went searching for the usual places that Snape knew about," he continued in a low voice. "Even if they find the right place, they don´t know what they´re going to do. Dumbledore wants them and Snape back here for sunset to see if anything has turned up."

Letting her head rest against Ron´s shoulder, Hermione tried to pick through the mish-mash of thoughts roiling around in her mind, her arms slipping from Ron´s neck with the sheer exhaustion she was feeling, too tired to hold on, too tired to move, too tired to even open her eyes.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

Tilting her head slightly to look at him, her head aching and her throat, lips and eyes sore from too much emotion expended in too short a time frame, she whispered, "I don´t want to go back to the wing. Take me to my room?"

"You sure?"

Nodding wearily against his shoulder, she closed her eyes. "It´s... it´s too big... the medical wing..." she said in a hoarse voice. "I-I feel too small. Isolated. I-I want to feel safe... somewhere I know well."

"What´s the password?"

For the first time all day, Hermione´s lips lifted in the faintest suggestion of a weak smile. "Goddesses only," she replied, the snort from Ron suggesting that he wasn´t surprised. "Lavender´s choice."

"I couldn´t tell," Ron murmured. "You and them... they knew?" Hermione nodded, tensing a little. What if he was angry about her neglecting to tell him that too? "So you weren´t completely on your own," he remarked, much to her astonishment, her eyes actually opening in surprise. "I´m glad about that."

Unable to voice anything else, she let herself drift close between sleep and the touch of unconsciousness, her head so heavy she could barely hold it against his shoulder, as he walked.

Her awareness only returned when she was laid on her own bed. The ecstatic purr of Crookshanks told her that much and she felt him walking around her head, where it lay on the pillow, his nose nudging her cheek in welcome.

Unable to even summon the strength to open her eyes, she felt blankets tucked around her moments before a warm, safe, familiar body spooned behind her, arms sliding around her waist.

"We shouldn´t sleep..." she mumbled, making a futile effort to make her thawing body move, but Ron tightened his arms around her, drawing her down. In front of her, she felt her cat snuggle in a ball against her belly, nudging Ron´s hand aside. "Ron... we should help... do something..."

"What can we do, love?" His breath was hot through her hair and she could hear the underlying frustration and pain in his voice. "If they can´t do anything, then how are we meant to? And you... you need to sleep. You were hurt yesterday and now..." The heat of his lips brushed over her cheek. "Get some rest."

"But I..."

"Hermione," he chastised. "Get. Some. Rest."

Reluctantly closing her eyes, Hermione nodded, nestling back against him and giving into the exhaustion that had been threatening to overwhelm her for hours.

***

It was Crookshanks that woke her, stretching and pressing his paws against her thigh, walking in a circle, then strolling across her head to leap down off the bed.

Glancing towards the window, the morning light had been replaced with afternoon sunlight, flaring into a corona of colours across the sky. Sunset was approaching, as far as she could tell.

"You awake?"

"Ron!"

She felt him nod against her shoulder, one of his bare arms about her waist, his palm spread on her stomach. "Didn´t want to wake you," he said quietly. "Y´looked so peaceful and you needed it."

"You should have woken me," she murmured, struggling to sit up, rubbing her arms through the jumper. A smile reached her lips, when she realised it was still Ron´s. "I-I should have told the teachers where we were."

"Don´t worry about that," Ron answered, sitting up beside her and tucking her hair behind her ears reverently. "Dobby popped in a little while ago and took a message to Dumbledore for us. Apparently Madam Pomfrey went spare when she lost you, and she wants you back in the wing for a check up."

Hermione´s face fell. "I-I´d rather not," she mumbled.

"Love, you have to," Ron said gently, lifting her face in his hands, his expression one of concern. "You might have gone and got a cold or something worse, running around the school in your nightie and I don´t want to risk anything else happening to you. With the luck we´ve had lately, it can´t get much worse and we´ll need you here if... I mean, when Harry gets back. Maybe we can sort this whole mess out. We were always better as a team anyway..."

Hermione stared blankly at him, working over his words, thoughts racing through her mind. Pieces were starting to fit together at a frightening rate, but she had to be mistaken. She had to be.

"Hermione?"

Brown eyes stared at him. "They played with us," she said, her voice shaking. "They did this all on purpose."

Ron´s expression suggested he didn´t have a clue what she was talking about.

"Ron, who always helps Harry?" She grasped his hand, as she spoke. "Us! It´s always us! In first year, we had to work together to get to the Philosopher´s stone and we did it. In second year, it was same with the Chamber of Secrets. It´s been the same every year! They know that - together - we were a threat to You-Know-Who!"

"So they had to split us up..." Ron nodded, shock spreading on his features. "Those filthy bastards... they´re going to pay for this."

"We should have realised before. I mean, how obvious is it? You stop any one of us talking to Harry and there´s going to be problems," Hermione said slowly. "We were always a trio and now... it´s like the three sides of a triangle. You take one away and the other two fall."

"And we would lose the plot because we would both think that it´s our fault Harry was taken, because we weren´t with him..." Ron continued, a look of sickened awe spreading on his face. "And they wouldn´t have any of us to face You-Know-Who or be the symbolic group that could never be split up. The day we´re on our own is the day the wizarding world knows to piss its pants in fear." Hermione gave him a look, which he returned with an apologetic one, then remarked gravely. "I hate to say it, but the bloke´s a bloody genius."

"And all the while, everyone would think it was just because of us falling out."

Ron shook his head. "Scary... it´s just plain scary..." he murmured, one of his hands closing around one of hers. "How did he know how we´d react? I mean, all of us, so he could make it work for him?"

"I don´t know," she replied honestly, shifting as Crookshanks hopped back up onto the bed and crawled into her lap, butting his head under her hand. "I mean, no one else really knows us that..."

"Scabbers!" Ron was staring at Crookshanks, a look of furious understanding on his face. "Wormtail... that filthy little bastard! I should have known he wouldn´t be able to leave off and get a life! I bet his still hanging on You-Know-Who´s robes and telling him everything he wants to know."

Hermione looked down at her cat, then slowly nodded. "It would certainly make sense," she agreed, her voice shaking. "I-I didn´t imagine that he would hate us that much, but it makes sense..."

"Dumble´ll probably know about it already."

"What if he doesn´t?"

Ron´s eyes darted to the window. "Well, it´s almost time for Sirius and everyone to get back here," he said, sliding from the bed and offering her a hand, helping her get up. "We could drop in and see, but we`d have to get some dinner first."

"I-I want to see them," Hermione nodded, then looked down at herself. "But I think I would have to change first."

"I don´t know," Ron gave her an appraising look, a glint in his eyes. "I think you look kind of... cute and huggable in that outfit."

Shaking her head, Hermione made her way across to the wardrobe and pulled out a heavy, pleated, knee-length skirt and a blouse and jumper. "I would rather look normal, thank you," she said.

"You don´t mind going to the Great Hall? We could always have Dobby get some food or something..."

Hermione licked her lips, which suddenly felt strangely dry. "I-I-I have to face people sooner or later," she said, although it took all her nerve to voice the words. It made her shake to even think them.

"You´ll be fine, love," Ron said reassuringly. "And anyone that makes you feel even a tiny bit uncomfortable can talk to my fist." She gave him a look. "All right, then, we can... negotiate strenuously."

"You´re dreadful," she said with a tired laugh.

"And yet, you adore me," he retorted, flashing an irrepressible grin at her, although it faded quickly. "We better get a move on, if we want to eat before heading up. Want me to wait outside, while you get changed?"

Looking around, Hermione spotted her wand on her bedside locker. "Can you pass my wand?" she asked, transfiguring a chair into a dressing screen, which she slipped behind to change.

"Where´d you learn that spell?" Ron inquired through the screen.

"From your mum, after Percy walked in on me when I was changing last year," she replied, risking a glance around the screen in time to see Ron´s face go purple. "Oh, don´t worry. He didn´t see anything. He just blushed and ran away."

"I´m glad to hear it!" Ron exclaimed.

Behind the screen, Hermione couldn´t help smiling at him. "I know."

It was a few minutes later when they finally emerged from her room, to make their way down to the Great Hall, Ron looping an arm around her shoulders in both a reassuring and protective mantle. Her hands were both resting in his other hand.

"You all right?" he asked softly, as they entered the hall, a tremor running through her body.

"I-I´m fine," she nodded, drawing calming breaths, although her heart felt like it was rattling around inside her ribcage. "L-let´s just get something to eat and go. I-I don´t want to stay here to long."

Approaching the Gryffindor table, Hermione had never felt more painfully aware of eyes on her. She could feel Dean and Seamus staring, heat rising in her cheeks as a feeling of nausea spread through her stomach. Pressing her head against Ron´s collarbone, she shivered.

"All right?" Dean asked, as they sat.

"Why wouldn´t we be?" Ron replied, his tone cold.

There was a moment of silence, the Seamus spoke. "So you two are back together, then? Wondered what was going on with you."

"We never split up, Seamus," Hermione heard her voice say, no longer shaking, but cold and firm as Ron´s had been. "I don´t know where it is you´ve been getting your rumours from, but we´re happy together."

It was only as she finished speaking that she raised her eyes to see Dean and Seamus exchange bemused glances.

"Does Harry know about this?"

"Harry?" Hermione´s voice was a choked whisper. "Why wouldn´t he?"

Dean shrugged. "S´pose I thought he´d be behind the times because him and Ron have been fighting," he replied, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Maybe that´s why he ran off!"

"Ran...?"

Seamus nodded. "Don´t tell me they didn´t tell you!" Hermione wanted to retort and knew Ron felt the same, but she squeezed his hand to silence him. "Harry´s gone AWOL in a fit of temper, or so Brocklehurst was saying."

"I heard that he got in an argument with Snape," Dean remarked, pointing his fork at Seamus. "And that Snape was going to poison him so he made a run for it."

"Imagine that," Hermione said dully. "Ron... I´m not feeling too well."

Ron nodded against her forehead and she felt his arm tighten around her waist. "I know the feeling, love," he murmured. "Want to go and see if we can find out what´s going on?"

"You´ll let us know, right?" Dean demanded.

"We´ll see," Hermione let herself be negotiated onto her feet, suddenly even more grateful for Ron´s arm around her waist. To hear them talking so casually about her missing friend had made her stomach clench painfully.

Hurrying out of the hall, she kept her head down, her face contorted in the effort to stem tears that she didn´t want to fall, Ron directing her along the corridors and passages until they reached the gargoyle that led to Dumbledore´s office.

"Do you know the password?"

Ron nodded. "Everlasting gobstopper," he said, the gargoyle moving to reveal the ascending staircase. Both of them hopped on, Hermione´s grip on Ron´s tightening as they rose up towards the office. "You okay?"

"I don´t like this," she mumbled. "It makes me feel ill."

Ron´s quiet chuckle earned him a punch on the arm. "Oi!"

"Meanie," she mumbled, exhaling a breath of relief as they reached the peak, the door already cracked open slightly, allowing them both to be seen by the four present occupants of the room.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore said with a faint smile that didn´t reach his eyes, as he crossed the room to let them enter. "Mr Weasley. I did suspect that you might be joining us at some point."

"Any news?" Hermione asked immediately.

The Head Master shook his head, motioning them in. "I´m afraid not," he replied quietly. "Severus, Sirius and Remus have spent all day searching and I´m afraid it has proved in vain."

The three other men looked as grave as Dumbledore did. Sirius was sitting on the steps in front of the desk, his head buried in his hands, but looked up at Hermione´s voice, a sympathetic look crossing his face.

"Hermione," Rising to his feet, he crossed the room towards her. "I heard what happened. I..." He grasped her shoulders in sympathy and Hermione instinctively jerked back from the touch. "I´m sorry it happened."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, embarrassment and shock crossing her face. "You... I-I´m sorry, Sirius... I didn´t mean..."

Sirius nodded in understanding, taking a step back from her. "Don´t worry about it, Hermione," he said with an understanding half-smile. "I don´t blame you for reacting like that. You´ll be all right?" She nodded. "And you," he directed his words at Ron. "You´ll look after her."

"Course," Ron replied firmly. "So´ll Harry, when he gets back."

"Actually," Looks of surprise were exchanged as Dumbledore spoke. "Just a few moments before you all arrived, I did receive word from the Ministry. Apparently, they have a Death Eater who wishes to claim sanctuary in exchange for information."

Snape, situated in the shadows nearest the desk, snorted. "Head Master, it may be a trap to see what we know."

"Yes, Severus," Dumbledore agreed heavily, returning to his seat. "It may well be, but it also may be a genuine offer of information. I am not about to risk young Harry´s life through lack of knowledge. If this individual provides aid..."

"It´s better than nothing," Remus Lupin said quietly. "Did they say who it was?"

"No," Dumbledore replied. "Only that he had somehow portkeyed into the Ministry without warning, around twenty minutes ago. They are bringing him here, as he is refusing to talk to anyone but myself."

"By portkey?" Hermione asked, wrapping her arms over her chest, wondering if she would be able to face another Death Eater.

"I would assume so, as there was no mention of apparating to the boundaries of the school. It will be more secure. Professor McGonagall will meet them." There was a rasp of stone against stone, a suggestion that the staircase to the office was moving again. "And it appears that they are on their way here already."

In front of the desk, Sirius immediately shifted back into the form of the great black dog, Lupin moving alongside him to lay a hand on his head, as if Sirius was his pet.

Behind them, Snape folded his arms over his chest and shrank back into the darkness even further, if that were possible, becoming barely distinguishable from the shadows that surrounded him.

Stepping back from the line of sight of the door with Ron, his arms wrapping entirely around her in a secure blanket, Hermione felt a knot of cold twisting in her stomach, licking her lips nervously.

The door opened, allowing Professor McGonagall to enter. Her face looked white as a sheet and she had one hand spread over her chest, as if in shock. "The Aurors are here, Head Master," she said in a somewhat shaky voice.

Two Aurors entered behind her, followed by a smaller third figure, whom everyone in the room recognised, but it was Lupin who voiced his name, as the small, frail-looking, balding man raised tiny, rodent-like eyes.

"Peter!"


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Notes: I don't normally do notes for this fic, but I saw a quote by JKR on the Chamber of Secrets DVD about the trio and I could resist sticking it in here because it is so very appropriate - "They're much stronger together than apart."

Plus, this chapter had been causing vast amounts of problems, because I simply could _not_ start it, then - watching CoS on DVD - the muse bit and ta-da! 7 pages in 2 hours, instead of actual work that I was meant to be doing :)

_______________________________________

"Peter!"

The silence that hung in the room in the second that followed virtually crackled with hared and suspicion. Hermione felt one of Ron's hands clench into a fist and she pressed against him, partly to restrain him from attacking Pettigrew, partly for some kind of reassurance. 

Pinioned between the two Aurors bound by both physical and magical bonds, the scrawny, miserable-looking man's eyes darted around the room, to each face. His eyes met Hermione's and she slammed back against Ron, hard.

Her stomach felt like someone was twisting it into knots and balloon animals, while her heart seemed to be beating in every single part of her body at once, the rapid thumping in her ears making her head throb.

Her boyfriend's arms slid around her and she could practically feel the fury vibrating out from him, directed towards the cloaked man, but her eyes remained proudly on Pettigrew's face, determined to show him that she wasn't afraid of him, that she hadn't been broken.

It was then that he did something that surprised her: Looking from her to Ron, he nodded once, as if in approval, then looked away.

"This is the Death Eater who wishes to claim sanctuary?" Snape's voice was low, as he merged out of the shadows, his arms folded over his chest gravely. His expression was unreadable, but confusion was reflected in his words and eyes. "I believed him to be dead."

"As did we all," Professor McGonagall agreed. She looked as if she were seeing an unexpected ghost, her eyes on Peter's face, the small man's head bowed slightly. "Do-do you have an explanation for this?"

Dumbledore took a step towards Pettigrew, who lifted his head, staring nervously at the Head Master and licking his thin lips. Blue eyes met pale, watery ones and the old wizard nodded his bearded head, a trace of a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "I assume," Dumbledore directed his words at the Aurors. "That all said here will be taken on record?"

Hermione stared at him, confusion lining her features. What on earth was he doing? Why was he not demanding Harry's location from the filthy rat-man? He was wasting time and Harry could be dying!

"Of course, Sir," one of the Aurors said. "The Ministry is very interested in how it is possible that Mr Pettigrew is still alive, when at least a dozen muggles witnessed him being blasted to pieces by Sirius Black. He has been dosed with the strongest variant of veritaserum, to provide you with all the information that you need."

Sirius growled, but Remus pressed a hand on the massive dog's shoulder, preventing him from leaping at the small man, bound between the two Aurors.

"Is there any... possible explanation for this?" Dumbledore murmured, looking from Pettigrew to Remus, who looked as bewildered as Hermione felt, his face mirroring the anger marked on Ron's face.

"Peter is an animagus," Remus replied, his voice shaking. "He was the Secret Keeper for the Potters. He's the one who betrayed them and he framed Sirius for the deaths of Lily and James, so he could escape alive."

One of the Aurors looked at Pettigrew. "Is this true? The allegations of betrayal? Are you, Peter Pettigrew, an animagus?"

"Y-yes," the reply was a stammered whisper. "Wormtail. A rat. Lived with Ronald Weasley as a pet for years. Sirius did nothing. He was innocent. Is innocent. He's a good man."

The two Aurors exchanged looks, one of them withdrawing a scroll from his deep pockets, unrolling it and reading through the contents, then nodding. "This scroll contains Black's testimony and profession of innocence prior to his mysterious escape from Hogwarts two and a half years ago," he said. "What Pettigrew has just said corresponds with what he claimed."

"Meaning that Sirius Black... was innocent?" Professor McGonagall's hand came to her mouth in a gesture of shock, her other hand still spread on her chest. "Oh, the poor man... in Azkaban for all these years."

"We will inform the Ministry of it and see that his sentence and criminal record are both revoked," one of the two Aurors said immediately, looking as astounded as the Deputy Head Mistress. 

Remus Lupin looked at them both, wary. "You mean that... _thing_'s word is enough for you?" he spat, his lip curling as he stared at Peter with the expression of one who would dearly love to tear the smaller man limb from limb.

"He is under powerful veritaserum, Remus," Dumbledore reminded the werewolf in a hushed voice. "I believe that he is telling the truth. If you wish them to make further investigations, by all means let them. I, however, am content to take Peter's word."

Lupin nodded, still glaring at Pettigrew. 

"However, one must wonder why you are doing this, Peter." Dumbledore said, turning back to face Pettigrew. "If Voldemort still lives, would you wish to change sides now? Have you been forced into it, Peter? Did someone make you come here?" 

There was something about the way he laid emphasis on the man's name that made Hermione stare at the Head Master. Why repeat his name so often? For the benefit of the Aurors, so they would understand it was the truth?

Pettigrew's eyes moved to Hermione once again. "I had to come back," he replied, nodding towards Hermione, who felt Ron's fingers gripping her shoulders, which somehow eased the nervous clench of her gut. "After what they did to her. I couldn't... there are some things I-I-I can't accept. That was one of them."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "I believe you have said all that needs to be said to prove yourself, Pettigrew," he said, to a startled gasp from Hermione, curses from Ron and Lupin and a low snarl from Sirius. "Perhaps..." He motioned to the Aurors to release the charms. "We will see that you receive a confession and signed testimony from Pettigrew, in order to clear Mr. Black's name," Ah! So that was what the Head master had been aiming for! Confession and verification of Sirius' innocence. "But for now, we ought to take over."

"But Sir..." one of the two Aurors began to say.

Brilliant blue eyes flashed in caution. "I would advise you to allow my guest to move freely and then you may depart," the Head Master said quietly, but with utter authority. "Unless you do not trust me."

Both Aurors exchanged glances, then shook their heads. "Of course not, sir," one of them said immediately. Withdrawing his wand, he removed the charms, while his companion withdrew a key and started unlocking the padlocks. 

"Sir, the Ministry will not be pleased if we simply hand over custody to you."

Dumbledore inclined his head in acquiescence, but Hermione was watching his face intently and could see the steely resolve chiselled into his features. "I am aware of this," he replied seriously. "But, as you know, this individual has requested sanctuary from me and I am only too happy to grant it."

"Sir..."

"I will hear of no arguments," Dumbledore cut the Auror off briskly. "I have chosen to take responsibility for Pettigrew and should he betray us all, then it will be upon my head. However, I do believe that he is honest." There was a snort of disbelief from the enormous black dog. "And," Dumbledore continued coolly. "As he wishes to ally himself with us, we will accept him."

"B-but sir," Hermione heard her own voice interrupt, shaking. "He-he's the one who betrayed his best friends and killed all those muggles. He brought You-Know-Who back. How can you trust him?"

The icy feeling that had taken root in the pit of her stomach seemed to thaw instantly when Dumbledore's eyes met hers, the warmth and reassurance there brushing aside any doubts. 

"He has come this far, into the stronghold of his Master's greatest enemy, which is courage indeed and I believe," he said softly, his eyes flicking to Ron, then back to hers. "That anyone is worthy of a second chance. For all we know, we might see another face to Peter that we never expected."

Looking up at Ron, recalling his plea for a second chance to make up for the hurt he had done her only a day or two earlier, on his knees in front of her, she nodded. "I-I understand, sir."

Dumbledore's warming smile told her she had made the right answer and the Head Master looked back to the Aurors. "Well?" he said quizzically, folding his hands in front of him. "Release him."

Unbinding the smaller man, both Aurors reluctantly stepped back as Pettigrew brought his hands up in front of his chest, massaging his wrists, which were clearly bruised. "Th-thank you."

"Now," Dumbledore's voice took on a strict, authoritative note. "Off with you. We will contact you, should any problems arise."

"But..." one of the Aurors began.

"No arguments," Dumbledore said sternly, raising his chin proudly. "Off with you."

With the greatest of hesitations, both men nodded, turning and striding out of the room, pulling the door closed behind them. The grate of stone-on-stone suggested that the staircase was moving downwards again. 

In the silence of the room, it seemed deafening.

Until that silence was broken.

"I'm going to kill him!"

The half-spoken, half-snarled words rang out a heartbeat before Sirius Black grabbed Pettigrew by the front of his robes and slammed him up against the back of the door with enough force to make the smaller man cry out in pain.

"Sirius!" 

The shout came in five voices: Pettigrew's pained yelp, Lupin's startled tone, Ron's angry yell of support, McGonagall's exclamation of astonishment and the Head Master's warning shout. 

"Sirius, release him at once!"

"Albus, you knew Sirius Black was here?"

"Yes, Minerva. I have been in constant contact with him since the incident two years ago," Dumbledore replied briskly, his eyes locked on Sirius. "Now, Sirius, I would advise you again to release him."

"Not before I pound his face into a bloody pulp," Sirius snapped, drawing back a fist to hit the smaller man.

"Mr Black!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed.

"Sirius," Dumbledore's voice was quiet, but diamond-hard in its authority. "Release him at once, or I promise you that you will regret it. We did not grant him sanctuary and dismiss the Aurors only to have you incarcerated once more for the murder of Peter Pettigrew and Harry Potter."

"What?" Hermione gasped, Dumbledore's words causing everyone to stare at him.

Sirius' grip on Pettigrew robes loosened and, without someone to pin him off the floor, against the door, the smaller man dropped to the floor, wincing as he landed heavily on one wrist, hissing in pain.

"What did you mean Harry...?"

"Obviously, Black," Snape interrupted, staring at the wretched figure of Pettigrew, who was scrambling to his feet and holding his wrist against his chest with his silvery hand. "If you kill Pettigrew, our only chance to find your precious Godson is gone."

"How do we know he isn't dead already?" Black demanded, flashing a savage look at Snape. Hermione had to confess she was wondering the same thing, although even thinking about it made her vision blur and nausea flood her.

No.

He couldn't be dead.

He wouldn't be dead!

He had promised, and he wouldn't let Voldemort kill him and break a promise that he had made! Harry was stubborn like that! 

"He isn't."

Every eye turned suspiciously to Pettigrew, but Dumbledore's. 

"And why not?" Ron burst out angrily. "You-Know-Who has been trying to kill him for this long already. Why would he keep him alive?"

A mirthless smile crossed Pettigrew's thin lips. "He was going to be your Christmas present," he replied, his voice clearer and more confident than it had been a few moments earlier. "Voldemort thought it would be funny and traumatising for you to receive his freshly-killed body on Christmas morning. Symbolism or something. It was meant to make you feel guilty because you didn't find him and save him," He paused raising his silver hand to scratch his head. "And there was something about mentally breaking people as well... I wasn't really listening because he really does get long-winded once he gets started. Loves to hear himself talk, that one."

Hermione stared at Pettigrew in confusion, thoughts running one over the other in her mind. 

Something definitely wasn't quite right about him and she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. He was more confident, yes, but that could be because he had information, but there was something else.

"So if he's not dead," Sirius snapped, temper short. "Where is he? Is he all right? Is he injured?"

Peter smiled at Sirius. Not just a smirk. A proper smile. Broad and happy, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh, I'd say that he's fine, Sirius," he replied. "And he's not about to get hurt, either, as long as you keep your temper."

"Stop being so damn cryptic! Where is he?"

Peter Pettigrew laughed, a cheerful sound. Glancing at the clock, he looked back at Sirius, still rubbing his wrist. "I'll tell you in a minute," he replied. Sirius surged towards him angrily. "Look! I can't tell you yet!"

"Waiting for the truth potion to wear off so you can worm your way out of telling the truth, are you?" Snape sneered, his expression ugly.

Beaming at Snape, Pettigrew shook his head. "The potion they gave me lasts for two hours at least. I think it was the same stuff you were going to put in my goblet that time in fourth year..."

Fourth year?

Hermione was genuinely bemused. Peter Pettigrew was laughing. He was smiling and behaving like he didn't have a care in the world. He was blatantly winding Sirius and Snape up. He had even called You-Know-Who Voldemort and only...

Her eyes went round and she pulled out of Ron's arms, running forward. 

"Hermione!"

Hurrying towards Peter, she stopped in front of him, lifting his face in her hands and staring at him intently. His lips pressed in a thin line, but the corners twitched up and he grinned at her.

"All right, Hermione?"

"Oh my God..." she whispered, a surge of joy making her heart feel like it was about to explode in her chest. "It's you!" Flinging her arms around him, she heard Ron's yell of protest and sounds of shock from the adults.

"Hermione! What're you playing at?" Ron demanded, hurrying up behind her, his words laced with consternation. "He... he might hurt you!"

"No! He won't!" she exclaimed, drawing back, but not releasing him, one arm around him. It honestly did feel like her face was about to crack in two from the force of smiling so widely. "It's Harry!"

Had she had advanced notice about what had come to pass, Hermione knew she would have been able to sell tickets for the reactions on the faces of the others in the room.

Dumbledore was beaming at her. Professor McGonagall looked like she was about to have her fifth coronary in ten minutes. Professor Snape had gone white. Sirius was pointing at Pettigrew in shock, then at Hermione. Lupin looked like a light had just gone on in his mind and was nodding.

Best by far, though, was Ron.

Bending close, he stared intently at the face of Peter Pettigrew. "You sure?" he asked cautiously, scrutinising the man's features and poking his face. "Looks like Pettigrew to me."

A fist shot out and socked him in the eye, knocking him back onto his bum on the floor, a look of surprise on his face. "That's for the shiner you gave me the other week," Peter said with a half-grin. "Be glad I'm not using your insults as well, though, mother of a wet gym sock."

The surprised expression melted away as a wide grin split Ron's face. He scrambled to his feet. "Harry! Bloody hell! It is you!" he exclaimed, grabbing his friend in a hug and practically lifting the smaller figure off the floor. A look of embarrassment crossed his face and he deposited Pettigrew's body back on the floor, stepping back to gruffly add, "And... er... you look ridiculous..."

"On the plus side, I'm alive," the reply came a heartbeat before Pettigrew's body doubled over with a groan. "Oh... I always hate this part..."

Both Hermione and Ron skipped back a step, watching as Peter's shabby body seemed to be sucked inwards into a more familiar, lean frame, thick, dense black hair sprouting from the bald scalp, which was changing shape before their eyes. 

Arms stretched out, the silver hand changing, colour spilling to the fingertips, curling into a fist as joints and bones crackled and clicked, shifting back into place in the teenager's taller form until Harry straightened up. 

One side of his face was swollen, one eye blackened and bruised and there were traces of healing cuts on his features, but they didn't seem nearly as important as the fact that he was standing there.

Grinning around at them, his hair standing in all directions over a flushed face, one hand immediately grabbed the waistband of the trousers he was wearing, to prevent them from falling. 

"So," he said, eyes dancing. "You miss me?"

"It... Harry... it's really you!" Sirius lunged forward and flung his arms around his Godson, hauling him off his feet, Harry's squeak of surprise making Hermione double over, giggling.

It was just such an utter juxtaposition with the previous moment, the relief more than overwhelming her and she couldn't help but laugh, grabbing onto Ron's arm in the hope he would be able to hold her upright.

Somehow, when the laughter gave way to giggling tears that were relief, happiness and all the tension flooding from her, she was unsurprised, letting her legs slither out from beneath her, landing in a rather undignified heap on the floor.

"Hermione?" Harry squirmed free from Sirius, dropping to his knees beside her and wrapping his arms around her, Ron on her other side. She had never felt more safe or loved than she did at that moment, sobbing noisily because it simply felt like a very appropriate thing to do. "You all right?"

"Of course I'm all right, you twit!" she wailed, an arm around each of their necks and hugging them in a combination of a headlock and an embrace. "You're back! I knew you wouldn't break your promise!"

"Hermione! Breathing! Can't do it!" Ron choked.

Harry's splutter suggested the same thing and she loosened her grip, snuggling in between both of them, yanking them closer to her by the front of their shirts. "That could have been messy," Harry noted, wheezing and rubbing his neck. "Escape Voldemort only to get strangled by a hug. I can see the Headlines now..."

"But what a way to go, eh?" Ron said. He gave Harry a hesitant, cautious half-grin.

Hermione bit on her lower lip, looking from one to the other, wondering if the fight before Harry's kidnap would still stand.

"I thought that would be your department," Harry replied, his half-grin mirroring Ron's, although a little more confident. "You two back on, then?" Hermione nodded and Harry groaned. "See the things that I miss when the most evil Dark Wizard in the world kidnaps me? So... how did it go?"

Hermione didn't need to be told what he was asking about. "Could have been better," she admitted, heat pouring through veins at the memory. Ron's hand pressed against her stomach and she covered it with her own. "But Ron bashed him!"

Ron's right arm looped around her shoulder, Harry's left around her waist, all of their legs tangled together. Harry peered around Hermione, a look of admiration on his face. "You did?" 

"Walloped him around the head a few times and kneed him in the bollocks," Ron replied with a shrug, resting his forehead against Hermione's left temple, his eyes closed. "Least I could do. Dumbledore told me I wasn't allowed to give him the chop where it counts. Wish he'd let me for what that filthy git did."

"He definitely deserved it," Harry agreed, his forehead resting against Hermione's other temple. She caught one of his hands, bringing it to rest over hers, on the light swell of her belly. "If I'd had the chance..."

"He tried to kill her an' all," Ron murmured. Although between them, Hermione was content to let Ron do the explaining, feeling too comfortable and safe to actually move let alone speak.

"He what?" Harry's voice sank to a snarl.

"Cut her throat," Ron replied grimly. His lips brushed lightly over her cheek and Hermione pressed her lips together, her eyes squeezed closed as silent tears continued to slip down her cheeks. "Almost killed her."

Harry's hand that was resting on hers tightened. "You okay, Hermione?" he asked in a low voice. "You want me to go and find him and rip his knackers off and throw them in the lake?"

Laughing, a choked squeak, Hermione shook her head stiffly. "I-I wouldn't want to give the Squid a stomach upset by poisoning the water."

Both Ron and Harry laughed, although she could tell it was forced, their mutual hatred of Malfoy overlapping any real amusement they might have had. Closing her eyes, she felt them both wrap around her like a protective barrier.

"How... what... how did you get away, Harry?" Sirius' voice rang down to them, but Hermione didn't care. All she cared was that Harry was back and he was hugging her along with Ron and everything was going to be all right.

Warm lips brushed Hermione's temple as Harry spoke softly. "I'm not leaving, Hermione," he said quietly. "I do need to explain though..." She nodded, snuggling closer to Ron, as Harry pulled back and she watched him looking around at them.

"Would I be correct in the assumption that Peter Pettigrew was your key?"

Harry nodded. "The minute Voldemort got me, he had me locked up. He had some kind of charms specially made to bond with only me, kind of strapping me against the walls. They would only ever stay on me and could only be removed when I was dead anymore, to guarantee I couldn't be taken out of the cell."

"Personalised chains and things? Shows he cares, to go to all that effort to pick out something special for you," Ron observed dryly, his lips rising in a half-smile against Hermione's temple. 

Harry grinned a little. "Well, they weren't really my colour," he replied. "Anyway, they held me against the wall. I couldn't move anything except my head and even that wasn't a good idea." He raised his chin to reveal a vicious-looking ring of red flesh around his neck. "Either way, he wasn't taking any chances with me being able to escape and if Peter hadn't helped..." 

"What did he have in mind for you?" Dumbledore asked gently. 

Pulling a face, Harry spread his hands. "The usual," he answered. "Like I said, he was going to have me delivered here, because he thought it was funny that he'd been able to break up the Unholy... whatchamacallit..." Clicking his fingers, he made an impatient gesture. "Oh... whatsit... trum...trim... triumvirate? Does that sound right?" 

"Triumvirate, yes," Dumbledore sounded like he was thinking on it. "The Unholy Triumvirate? That is what he titled you as?"

Hermione couldn't help uttering a giggle. "He really didn't like us, did he?"

"Not really, no," Harry agreed, his tone sobering. "He knows a lot about us as well, because of Peter," Ron made a sound of anger, Hermione squeezing his hand. "He knows what we're all like and he used it..."

"So he could split us up, right?" Ron interrupted. "Hermione worked that out, but it doesn't explain why he picked on her."

"It does, though," Harry replied grimly. "He knew that if anything happened to her, she would pretend it didn't really matter, that she could cope, and of course, he knew that you were... well..."

"A stupid git?" Ron suggested with a wry grin.

A half-smile crossed Harry's lips. "Well, I didn't want to be the one to say it, but yes, just a bit," he agreed. "He knew you two were keeping tabs on me and the only way to stop that was by having us fall out and Hermione..."

"I was the easiest target," Hermione said quietly, swallowing hard, the anger and bile rising in her throat. "Female, muggle-born..."

"Sort of," Harry admitted. "He knew that you were stronger than most girls, so it was the only thing he could think of to get to you, without doing something as obvious as hurt your family. He wanted to make it look like we were breaking up from the inside out. He knew that he wanted Malfoy to prove his loyalty and he knew Malfoy hates even the thought of touching muggle-borns. To attack you was against Malfoy's nature, because of where you come from. Apparently he furious, but he didn't have a choice in it. He had to prove himself or die and even if he did it, he would be able to claim he had been imperiused into it, because everyone knows he would never touch a muggle. They set it all up, making his presence at the Leaky Cauldron, when you were there, look as suspicious as possible so he could say it was imperius if he had to, because everyone knows what he's like."

"So that was his test..." Snape murmured. Raising her eyes, Hermione saw him press his eyes close, as if in pain. "Miss Granger, I apologise that I could not learn what he had in mind and prevent it."

A wan smile tripped on her lips, falling away almost at once. "Y-you couldn't know everything, P-Professor."

Snape inclined his head slightly, his expression one of startled gratitude, admiration in his eyes. She expected that he was relieved that she hadn't hurled abuse at him for being unable to prevent it.

"Voldemort was smart," Harry continued, reaching over to take one of Hermione's cold hands. "Very smart. He knew Malfoy had Draco here and Draco looks just like his dad, so if Malfoy did do what he was told, Draco would be here to remind you of it and make you jumpier..."

"And that worked," Hermione nodded, closing her eyes, her hand closing tightly around Ron's. 

"Draco was the one keeping track of what was going on here," Harry added. "He was keeping Voldemort updated with what was happening, your reactions and how we were all getting on. He didn't know what his dad had done, but his job was to spread rumours and make things worse."

"And they just told you all of this?" Sirius sounded puzzled. "But what if you escaped from them and got back to tell us everything?"

"It would ruin the arrangement," Hermione added quietly, her voice shaking slightly, opening her eyes to look at him.

"They told me everything because they knew that I couldn't escape because they had me in a cell and only a couple of people were allowed access and there was no way to get out," Harry said patiently. "Even if I'd had my wand, those charms they used on me were too powerful. They were bound to my life, so the only way to get them off me was to kill me or take the whole wall I was fastened to and I can see that being a bit of a problem for having a normal life. Yes, I'll have one ticket for the Knight Bus and two decks for the wall chained to my back..."

"And yet," Remus' voice cut in. "You're here... and wall-free."

"So you noticed that?" Harry grinned, then his expression turned serious. "Like I said, it was Peter. I didn't think he had it in him, but he... he managed to out-think Voldemort. Voldemort actually trusted him as much as he trusted anyone, believed Peter to be loyal and Peter... he..." He lowered his head, a pained expression crossing his face. "He took my place."

"The polyjuice! Of course!" Snape exclaimed, as if a complex equation had just been made clear to him. "If he drank and took your form, the charms would immediately contain him while he was masked by your biological make-up, while you could walk free."

"Don't know how he managed to sneak it in, but he was the person who brought me bread and water, to keep me alive. Somehow, he got the potion passed the guard outside... maybe they thought he was forcing me to drink sewage or something, just looking at the potion, but yeah. He forced me to drink it, then drank his and next thing I knew, I was lying in a heap on the floor and he was the one fastened to the wall. He told me to go and when I told him I couldn't leave him, he started screaming and howling and the guards actually dragged me out... he was smiling, when I got pulled out of the room..."

"Bloody hell..." Ron whispered, hugging Hermione closer to him. She clung to him equally tightly. "Scabbers came through in the end..."

"Peter..." Remus murmured, sounding utterly stunned. "My God... Peter..."

Dumbledore broke the stunned silence that fell. "And you got a Portkey straight out without anyone suspecting, Harry?"

Harry nodded, licking his lips. "He... he set it all up. He gave me a pin... as soon as I was out the door, it worked. He told me to bring it back... to give it..." Lifting his face, Harry looked at Sirius and Remus. "He told me you'd know what to do with it."

With shaking hands, Sirius took the silver pin from Harry's hand, looking at Remus, who nodded, withdrawing his wand, touching the pin with a hoarse whisper of, "_Finite incantatum_."

The pin spread out into a scroll in Sirius' hand and he opened it with trembling fingers, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "It was part of our arrangement. You wanted to leave a message, you made it into a pin," he said by way of explanation. "It was something no one would think to check."

Reading the scroll, Remus' hand rose to press against his mouth, his eyes filling with tears. "Oh God... Peter..." 

Hermione was hardly surprised when Harry pressed in close beside her again, his face buried in her hair. She could feel the heat of his tears soaking through her jumper, her arm wrapping around him.

Ron seemed to sense what was wrong, one of his hands moving from Hermione's body to rest on Harry's shoulder in a silent gesture of comfort. 

"Wh-what is it?" Hermione asked, staring up at Sirius's white face and Remus' despairing expression, Harry's shoulders shaking in her embrace.

"He... he's sorry," Sirius' voice cracked as he spoke. "He... he was the one who told them about everything... he didn't want to but Voldemort had ways of getting what he needed... he didn't know what they were going to do... when he found out... he wanted to warn us, but it was too late... he... he always hated hurting women and he knew you. He wants to tell you he's sorry... and Harry... all of you. For everything... he says he was weak and he hopes you can... he hopes..." Sirius shook his head, unable to continue, one hand coming to his forehead, silent tears seeping down his cheeks.

"He-he wants Harry to live... to defeat Voldemort," Remus finished, his own voice shaking. "He hopes... hopes this... that he helped... that maybe we'll be able to forgive him eventually..."

"He gave his own life in order to ensure all of yours," Dumbledore murmured, his tone contemplative and sad. "Had Harry died, I do believe that everything we have fought for would have been torn asunder by doubts and fears. He knew that."

Hermione felt Ron's brow press against hers. "Scabber..." he muttered. "He did it..."

Biting on her lip, Hermione nodded. "He knew we needed each other. That Sirius needed to be proved innocent. That we all needed him..."

"I think," Dumbledore said with a sad smile. "That Peter Pettigrew has finally, truly earned the Order of Merlin awarded to him so long ago."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Notes: Apologies for the major delay on this chapter, but life caught up with me. I've a) just finished uni, b) moved from one side of Scotland to the other, c) had friends visiting, d) had my computer disassembled, e) moved to Sweden for the summer, f) have been working like crazy full time, g) Country-hopping for Graduation and the like (I'm a BA with Honours! Yeah baby!). Obviously, mildly busy.

I also want the world to know that while I'm typing this, I haven't got my copy of OotP yet, hence I am not best pleased because somebody forgot to put spoiler tags up and I saw more than I needed to. Grr. Hence, the need to write something darkish, so I chose this.

P.S. The dates may be a little off for the school terms, because I don't have my books and I really needed these dates like this. I may be off by a day or two, so I'm hoping you will forgive the error.

P.P.S. Also, there's a sort-of tribute to Anya's absolutely fantastic and hilarious fic The Naked Quidditch Match in here, because it's one of the few humour fics that has kept me reading from start to finish, in one go. And it was actually *gasp* funny!

___________________________________________

She felt safe.

Safer than she had in many months, at least.

From what she remembered from the previous night, they were in her bedroom, the one she shared with Lavender and Parvati, although neither of the girls had yet returned from the Christmas holidays.

With all the chaos which had been ongoing, with the attempted abortion, the revelation of everything, the encounter with Malfoy and the attack, on top of Harry's kidnap and dramatic return only the night before, all thoughts of Christmas and celebrating had been wiped from Hermione's mind.

She could barely even recall what day it was.

For all she knew and cared, it might well have passed Midsummer's day. All she could remember was that she had taken her potion on the twenty-fourth, because she had wanted everything out of the way before Christmas and, lo how well that had turned out.

So much had happened, so much that should have – by rights – fitted into far more than the week or less which had passed. It was strange that everything seemed to happen at once, yet there was still so much time left over.

And now, it was almost all over, everything, and she was back and safely wrapped up between two of the people who made her feel more safe and comfortable than anyone else she knew.

Her eyes were still closed, but Hermione could identify the two bodies curled around her own one without looking. The one in front of her was taller then her and she was snuggled against the thick wool of the jumper than covered his chest, small fingers bunched in the material, head pillowed on his shoulder. 

One of his arms was loose around her shoulder, serving almost as a pillow, the other arm crossed over his body to rest a hand possessively and protectively on her left hip, almost touching the other arm wrapped around her from behind.

The smaller of her two human blankets was cuddled up against her back, his arm around her waist, hand spread on her belly, and his face buried – which must have been very uncomfortable, she thought – in the dense bush of her hair.

A small smile lifted Hermione's lips at the light touches they were both placing on her, as an assurance that she wasn't alone, which had been enough to keep her nightmares at bay.

Even if anyone commented on the oddness of their particular arrangement, she knew she wouldn't change it for all the galleons in Gringotts, the safety she felt when held between them even more comforting as the presence of Dumbledore himself.

Warmth spread across her face, the caress of sunlight apparently easing through the massive windows and casting a soft heat over all of them. Squinting at the darkness behind her lids gave way to a reddish tint, she forced her eyes open drowsily, coming face-to-chest with a patched, maroon jumper.

Contracting her fingers in the thick material, her smile widened a little at the sight of the rather faded yellow 'R' in the middle of the chest. 

Even though he had grown, Ron had managed to magically stretch his favourite old jumper, although he would never admit to actually liking it. He always complained, but she knew he would never throw it away, not until it dropped off him in pieces.

Burying her face in the rough material, she inhaled the familiar Weasley smell that still lingered on him, the smell that was so very Ron flooding her senses.

"Do I get a sniffing as well?" a drowsy voice inquired from behind her.

Tilting her head, Hermione felt her smile widen further as Harry's sleepy face swam into her line of sight, strangely naked without his glasses. His hair was more unruly than usual, parted over his forehead to reveal the scar that made him famous.

"Only if you ask nicely," she replied softly, reaching down to find his hand at her waist and squeeze it. His fingers tightened briefly around hers. "Your face looks a lot better this morning."

"So miracles can happen, eh?" Both Hermione and Harry turned to look at Ron, who was mid-yawn. Hermione's brow creased when she felt Harry's hand slip from hers and the bed shifted as he sat up. 

"Harry?"

Green eyes looked down at her. "I need to get some fresh air," he replied quietly, groping for his glasses.

"Harry, wait!" Hermione caught him by the hand, a sense of foreboding flooding her as she saw his eyes dart to Ron's face, his expression tightening, then look back to her. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing," he said, although his voice lacked enthusiasm. "I just want to get some air and since Ron's awake now, I thought you two might want to have some time together."

Ron had sat up on Hermione's other side, staring at his friend, then nodded. "S'all right, mate," he said, reaching over and liberating Harry's hand from Hermione's. "I see where you're coming from."

A grateful look crossed Harry's features and he was off the bed and halfway towards the door before Hermione could even protest, confusion on her face.

"Ron!"

"Hermione, just think what happened," he said softly. "He's had a rough time the last couple of days. On top of that, him and me… we're still not back to being right and if he needs to be on his own for a bit, it's fair enough. Let him think on his own, just for a little while, eh?"

Staring at her boyfriend, Hermione slowly nodded. It was true. Harry had been in Voldemort's hands which was bad enough, but the fact that prior to that, he and his best friend couldn't stand to be in the same room, let alone the same building…

"He'll… he'll be all right, won't he?" she whispered, looking towards the door.

"He's Harry," Ron said. The tone in his voice made her look at him, the almost sad understanding in his voice catching her by surprise. "He'll be fine, because he always has to be. He doesn't have a choice anymore." Brown eyes met brown. "He just needs a break before him and me can even think about trying to talk. He's got too much to think about now."

"But you won't hate each other?" Hermione knew it was a strangely childish question to ask, but it had to be said and the cold feeling in the pit of her stomach was making her feel sick. 

If she had to lose one or the other, no matter how selfish she knew it was, she knew it would drive her near mad. She _needed_ them! Both of them!

A wan smile crossed Ron's face as he wrapped his arms around her and drew her against his chest. "I don't think I could ever hate him, really," he answered with the honesty she knew was purely Ron. "But I've done enough to make him hate me."

"He doesn't hate you."

"But he could have."

Hermione lowered her eyes, unwilling to admit that it was an accurate assessment of the situation. If things had remained the way they were, even for a day or two more, there would have been no chance for the friendship Ron and Harry had formed over so many years.

Warm lips pressed against her temple. "Let's not think about that now, eh?" he suggested softly, his cheek coming to rest against the top of her head. "Let's just worry about whether or not you're going to smack me across the head for not getting you a decent Christmas present."

"You… you got me a present?"

She heard him chuckle. "Why wouldn't I?" he said. "I mean, yeah I thought you were about to run off and leave me for Harry, which would have just been weird, but it doesn't mean I wasn't thinking about you anyway."

Pressing her eyes closed, Hermione wrapped her arms around his chest, burying her head in the hollow of his throat. "Thank you."

"Er… why not keep that until you see what it is?" he offered carefully. "You might want to throw it at me."

"That bad?"

"Well, I was kind of annoyed with you."

Shaking her head, Hermione couldn't help smiling at the rather sheepish tone in his voice. "Let me guess," she said, settling herself comfortably against him. "A box full of Fred and George's latest things?"

"Um… well, sort of."

Shifting slightly, she reached up and pecked him on the cheek. "In that case," she said with a smile. "I'll let you open it."

One hand rose and cupped her chin, his thumb tapping the edge of her jaw. "I thought you might," he murmured, stroking her cheek gently. "And to make up for it, I'm going to plant one on you, if you don't mind."

"I think I could manage that," she said with a small smile, her eyes fluttering closed as his lips came closer to hers.

"What the bloody hell have we missed?"

Ron and Hermione jerked away from each other simultaneously at the female squeal from the door, a blush rising up Hermione's face as she found Lavender and Parvati staring in at them, Parvati grinning behind her hand.

"Lavender! Parvati!"

"No, we're just a random pair of limbo-dancing hamsters!" Lavender countered, stomping into the room. "Now would you be kind enough to inform us of what we've missed and why you were about to righteously snog a certain Mr. Ron Weasley since last time we saw you, you weren't even talking to each other?"

"We… er… made up," Ron offered lamely.

Parvati lowered her hand from her mouth, grinning broadly at them both in a way which made Hermione's blush deepen. "Oh, we can see that!" she said gleefully, a glimmer of mirth in her amber-brown eyes.

"Parvati!"

"Well, he did state the obvious," Lavender said, stalking closer to the bed. Hermione could feel Ron all but squirming under the intent looks of thew two girls. "Who, what when, where and why?"

"And how did you catch that son of a b…er…" Parvati paused with a pointed look at Ron. "He _does_ know about everything now, doesn't he?"

"Of course I know about everything!" Ron said indignantly. "I beat the stuffing out of Malfoy for her!"

"Ooh!" 

"I bet his dad'll be miffed!" 

Now there, Hermione thought, were the Lavender and Parvati she remembered from the previous six years of school, a smile playing across her lips as they dropped themselves on the foot of the bed.

Ron blinked, then shook his head. "No, I meant his dad…" His words trailed off into a rather feeble squeak of panic as both of the girls suddenly leapt at him, tackling and hugging him, shrieking like banshees and bouncing up and down, causing the whole bed to shake with their enthusiasm.

Unable to hold in the laughter at the petrified look on Ron's face, Hermione swatted both of the girls away. "Let him be!" she exclaimed, as they both scrambled back, beaming at him as if he were the best thing since sliced bread. "You're scaring him."

"We're scaring him? The man who beat the poo out of Lucius Malfoy?" Lavender inquired, her face alight.

"Er… not used to being jumped on," Ron mumbled sheepishly, tugging at the hem of his jumper. "Specially not by girls."

"Aww!" Parvati cooed. "He's blushing! How cute!"

Ron flashed a glower at her and Lavender, his scarlet face clashing horribly with his flaming hair. "Sod off," he grumbled, pulling Hermione back to him.

"But you did good, beating that git to a pulp!" Parvati said brightly. "We just want you to know we now like you again."

"Oh, I'm so pleased about that."

"Ron!" Hermione swatted his arm. "Be nice."

"And tell us something: Did he scream?" Lavender asked, a sadistic gleam in her eyes. "Did you make him bleed? And bruise? Did you break any bones? Come on! We want details! Tell us what you did to him!"

"Er…" Ron looked uncertainly at Hermione, who was trying hard to smother her giggles at Lavender's fierce expression. "Is she always this into blood, Hermione?" he inquired carefully.

"Only when someone hurts a friend," Parvati replied with an equally wicked smile, leaning on Lavender's thigh, her eyes intently on Ron's face. "So tell us what you did then. We want details!"

"I always said I would tear his knob off with my bare hands and feed it to him, given the chance!" Lavender added with a ghoulish grin at the horrified look on Ron's face. "And did you know your boyfriend was so easy to wind up, Hermione?"

"You… you were joking?"

"Not a jot, but come on! Tell us already!"

"Hermione?"

Giggling behind a hand, her head resting on his shoulder, Hermione raised her eyes to him. "You should probably just do what they ask," she said. "Otherwise, I think they may get a bit testy."

Ron looked even more nervous.

Lavender and Parvati didn't help the situation by grinning at him in a way that could only be classified as near homicidal.

***

"All right?"

Pulling her attention from her two roommates and her boyfriend, Hermione beamed at Harry as they entered the Great Hall. With Ron's arm around her and Lavender and Parvati close at hand, she felt she could take on the world and win. "Harry!"

Sitting alone at the Gryffindor table, Harry looked like he had been toying with a plate of food for some time, his fork absently pushing a piece of onion around the edge of his plate. "Feeling better?" he inquired with a slight smile.

Glancing at her mini entourage, Hermione could only nod. She felt Ron's fingers close around one of her hands and squeeze, as they approached the practically empty table, sliding into the seats opposite Harry, Hermione flanked by Lavender and Ron.

"Where'd'you run off to, mate?" Ron asked. "Get your fresh air?"

Harry surveyed him for a moment. "Yeah," he replied, the smile on his lips tentative but still present. "I've learned a lesson about going to the Quidditch pitch on my own, though, so I'll have to drag you down there later…"

"Missing your broom, eh?" Ron grinned. "Three days, mate. Three days and you can't cope!"

A wistful look filtered into green eyes. "Yeah, a bit of a weakness I have there," he sighed, then shook his head. "Oh and just remembered something. Dumble just got word in. Voldemort is sure it was me in that cell."

"He thinks you're dead?" Hermione gasped.

Harry's face split in a grin. "Yeah," he answered, skewering a piece of cold sausage on his fork and using it like a hammer on top of his untouched egg. "Kind of nice not to have him chasing me for once, but this is even better for you."

"It… is?" Ron looked bemused. "How?"

"Well, if Voldemort thinks I've kicked the bucket, I'm guessing he'll think it's his big moment, won't he? Problem is that he's got a witness now. I know exactly what he has planned and what he's done and who he has on his side," He heaved an over-dramatic sigh, a mournful tone filling his voice. "And wouldn't it be awful if that information somehow got leaked…?"

Ron's eyes were wide. "Bloody hell, Harry, you could bring him down from the inside with that kind of information!"

"If he didn't hate you before, he will now," Hermione added faintly.

Harry's bruised face was alight with a grin. "I know," he said cheerfully. "I'd love to see the look on his face when he realises what's happened. I can just see him jumping up and down, screaming 'Kill him! Kill him!'"

Twin shrieks of laughter suggested that Lavender and Parvati – who had been repeatedly wincing at Harry and Hemione's use of Voldemort's name – found this image of the Dark Lord, whom they had believed they were meant to be petrified of, particularly funny. 

Clutching at one another, their faces were flushed and streaked with tears of mirth by the time their laughter trailed into silence, puzzled looks directed at them from the few faces scattered around the hall.

"What's up with them?" Harry inquired, looking at the pair as if they had lost their marbles.

"Oh, don't worry about it, mate," Ron grinned. "They're those weirdoes who have never spent time with us and because of that, have missed the fun of your weird sense of humour. We're breaking them in now. Looks like we're the only ones who can take the mickey out of He With The Silly Name."

"Explains a lot," Harry chuckled, shaking his head. 

"But he's he Dark Lord," Parvati moaned, clutching her sides. "You… how can you take the mickey out of him?"

Harry shrugged. "Think about it this way," he said, "everyone else is petrified of him, he's a raging maniac and if he was here now, I'm sure a few people would be dead. If we didn't laugh about it, what would we be like?"

"Good point," Lavender said, scrubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands.

"And just look at the bloke! He's got glowing red eyes and no nose. How can you take him seriously?"

"Especially when he's tried to kill us six years running and it hasn't worked," Ron added. "He's really lost a lot of credibility as a terrifying bad guy since he started coming after you, Harry."

"Yeah!" Lavender agreed enthusiastically. "You've beaten him, Harry! No one else could! It's amazing!"

Hermione couldn't help beaming at the bashful look that crossed Harry's face, which had just turned a shocking shade of scarlet. Clearly, in spite of everything that had happened, he hadn't changed.

"Well… er… I didn't do it myself," he mumbled, his eyes on the plate in front of him. "I-I just did what I could."

"Aww," Parvati cooed, although there was a mischievous look in her eyes that forced Hermione to slap a hand over her own mouth to smother the giggles. "Isn't he just the cutest thing you ever saw?"

If possible, Harry went even redder. 

"Parvati, you leave the poor boy alone. "You're embarrassing him!" Lavender chastised, then smirked at Harry. "After all, when I've got my eye on him, you'll have to wait for seconds."

A muffled squeal escaped Harry.

"Lavender, Parvati," Hermione shook head head. "Don't scare him!"

"But he's so cute when he's all red."

"And it compliments his eyes perfectly!"

Ron leaned a little closer to Harry. "If you really want to run away," he said in an undertone, eyeing the two Gryffindor girls with marked suspicion, "I wouldn't blame you. They hugged me earlier! Me! If you get a big enough head start, you should be able to make the end of the Hall before they stop giggling over how cute you look when you run."

"Hey!" Lavender protested. "We're not that bad!"

Parvati coughed, nudging her friend. "Actually," she muttered. "We are."

Lavender had the grace to look bashful, keeping a remarkably straight face in spite of Hermione's giggles. "Oh. Right. Well…" Clearing her throat, she glanced around the hall warily. "You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"Something tells me it's a bit late for that," Ron said sagely, then smiled hesitantly at both of them. "I never got a chance to thank you for looking after Hermione when I was… er… being an idiot."

"You're were being a boy," Parvati said with a dismissive wave of a hand. "We knew you'd come around eventually, even if we had to tie you down and beat you with a stick to see sense."

"And you know," Hermione added, her head resting on Ron's shoulder, her fingers still interwoven through his, a reassurance that he wasn't about to leave her. "I'm sure they would do it as well."

A worried look crossed Ron's face. "Really?"

"Well, if you didn't come to your senses and agree to look after her," Parvati said amiably, although the pleasant smile on her lips was belied by the fact she had just picked up a rather sharp steak knife. "You don't plan on running out on her again… do you?"

"No!" Ron said a little too quickly, earning a grin from both girls and causing a rapid spread of warmth through Hermione's body, her own smile smothered only when he added, "I promised I would stay with her and the baby."

Two heartbeats.

That was how long the silence lasted.

Her eyes pressed shut and her breath caught.

She heard the deafening throb in her ears and her hand tightened about Ron's as she suddenly recalled what she had done the last day she had seen her two friends. She could feel the colour drain from her face and her stomach tighten agonisingly at the sensation of Lavender and Parvati's confused eyes on her.

"Baby?" Lavender said softly, touching Hermione gently on the arm. With a shudder, Hermione recoiled, her head down. "Hermione, what's he on about?"

"You're pregnant?" Parvati whispered.

Hermione nodded her head tightly, unable to speak for fear of the scream of guilt that would escape from her. She could feel Ron's arm tighten about her and heard the clatter of someone scrambling over the table, knocking plates, jugs and glasses aside with a clatter.

"Mr. Potter!"

Apparently ignoring McGonagall's cry, Harry's arms wrapped around Hermione from behind, sandwiching her securely between Ron and the table, thawing a little of the icy knot which had formed in her stomach at the combination of the thought of the baby and the guilt at what she had done.

"Oh God…" Lavender's voice was shaking. "How long have you known?"

"S-since a week or two b-before you left," Hermione felt like someone else was speaking through her. Had she been in control of her body, she would have bitten off her clumsy tongue and fled. 

Parvati and Lavender exchanged startled looks. "You didn't tell us," Parvati said, her voice low. 

Hermione didn't want to lift her face, didn't want to see the accusatory looks in their eyes, didn't want to admit to what she had done, but forced her face up, shaking. "I-I did," she said, her voice faint. "You… I made you forget…"

She looked from Lavender's freckled face to Parvati's tawny one, expecting to see the looks of hate that would naturally come with understanding, her heart pounding so loudly that she could barely hear Ron's muttered words of reassurance.

"Why?" Lavender finally asked in a tremulous voice after a silence that seemed to hang in the air for an eternity.

Looking down at her hand which was gripping Ron's, her knuckles white-tipped, Hermione licked her lips nervously. "I-I was going to get rid of it," she replied in a tightly controlled voice. "I-I just wanted to forget. I-I'm sorry."

She physically jumped when a hand touched her forearm, raising her eyes to find blue ones gazing at her from beneath a sandy-blonde fringe, full of concern and understanding. But where was the hate? 

Glancing at Parvati, the darker girl's expression was the same. Hermione couldn't help staring at them. After all, she had manipulated their minds, wiping a section of their memories and they were both…

"I understand," Lavender said seriously. "I can understand why you did it."

"But I wiped your memory…" Hermione protested. "You should hate me…"

"Do you want that?" Parvati asked pointedly, although she did look a little tenser then Lavender did. "Do you want us to give up on you after everything, just because you did something because you were scared?"

"Y-you won't?" Even in her own ears, Hermione's voice sounded tiny and fragile.

Parvati shrugged. "If you can undo it or something, then we can let bygones be bygones, eh?"

"You'll need to undo it and all," Ron added, his hand moving in soothing circles on Hermione's back, gentle and warm. "After all, it was Lavender who realised why the pureblood thing didn't work."

"I… er… what?"

"We'll explain later, Lavender," Harry said briskly, when Ron opened his mouth to answer them. Nodding towards the end of the Great Hall, he said, "I think that now, though, that we've got something else to deal with."

Standing in the doorway was the Head Master and with him, a small knot of Aurors looking straight at them.

***

Brown eyes were full of bewilderment, as they stared at Dumbledore. Sunlight was pouring through the windows around the room, filling the whole room with crisp, cool light, a sign of the beginning of the new year.

Hermione's fingers had interwoven in her lap, tuched in the fabric of her oversized Weasley jumper, curling so tightly she could hear her joints clicking together with every rhythmic twist.

"I-I don't think I understand," she finally whispered, her voice quiet.

"It is quite simple, Miss Granger," the Head master's soft voice carried perfectly in the beautiful chamber that served as his office. He was seated behind his desk, his gaze resting upon her. "We have a rather unexpected ally. A witness to Lucius' crimes and she desires to speak against him."

"But the only people who would know are…" Hermione trailed off into silence as the words caught in her throat. 

Only those who had been present when Malfoy had been given his orders or those who had been directly informed of what he was doing for the Dark Lord would be valid to stand. 

Surely no true Death Eater would willingly stand forward – at the risk of their own life – to denounce Malfoy, just because a muggle-born was the victim.

No, especially because a Muggleborn was the victim.

She knew they viewed her as nothing more than filth. Even when he had violated her, Malfoy had whispered his distaste for her and her 'kind', something which still made her tremble whenever she heard the simple word 'mudblood'. 

After the attack, that simple word had come to mean so much more to her and she hated it more than she ever had before. It had become symbolic of the reason she had been hurt, something she wished she could scrub away, something that was a part of her, even though she did not want it to be. 

For a Death Eater to even consider helping one of her 'types' of people…

It didn't seem… right.

She looked up as two hands came to rest on her shoulders, one thin and bony, the other large and freckled. Ron and Harry were both standing over her, shoulder to shoulder, almost like some kind of oddly-matched bodyguard, which caused a spread of warmth in her stomach, to know she had them there. 

_Both_ of them.

Lavender and Parvati, despite protesting loudly and fiercely, had been told to wait outside. The Aurors were also waiting outside the office, while Dumbledore informed Hermione of the latest developments, only Ron and Harry permitted in to support her, for which she was immensely grateful.

Finding her voice, her head bowing, she shakily added, "They would be Death Eaters… or close to them. Why would any of them h-help?"

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore agreed with a nod, steepling his fingers before his chest. "I can see why you might have difficulty comprehending this, but surely you will not turn down an additional witness."

"N-no. Of course not," Hermione was certain her tongue had turned into a stone, her words seeming to simply lie in her mouth. "It-it… I just didn't think any of-of them would want to help."

There was a long silence.

So long that Hermione wrenched her eyes from her hands, which were twisting in her lap, to look at the Head Master. His gaze was on her, steady and calm, but holding an emotion she could not identify.

"What is it, Sir?" Harry was the one to voice the question and Hermione sent a grateful look in his direction.

"Perhaps, Miss Granger, you should not consider this witness as someone who is willing to _help_ so to speak," the Head Master replied after a painfully long moment of deliberation, in which Hermione was sure she felt her heart leap against every single rib with enough force to leave her breathless. "At least not for your benefit."

Suspicion ebbed into Hermione's mind, one of her cold hands rising to grip Ron's which was still resting on her shoulder. She felt his grip tighten, knowing she would probably have bruised indentations in her flesh, but did not mind in the least, caring only that she could feel his presence. 

"What do you mean?" she demanded, her voice shrill and shaking. Harry's hand tightened as well and her other hand snapped up to clutch his fingers. "Who… who is it? Why are they doing this?"

Lowering his hands, Dumbledore spread them upon the smooth surface of his desk, depressing the tips of his fingers until they went white as the frost crusting the panes of the windows. 

"She is doing this as a matter of personal vengeance, Miss Granger," he finally said, blue eyes expressing nothing but his concern for Hermione, something which both warmed and infuriated her. 

Was now the time for careful words and avoiding the subject? No!

"Who is?" she asked more sharply than she intended. "I want to know."

The bright blue eyes closed for a couple of heartbeats, then reopened, gazing straight at her. "Narcissa Malfoy," Dumbledore replied.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Author's notes: As some of you may have noticed, this fic hasn't been updated in quite some time (cough5yearscough). However, as I'm tying up all my loose ends, this is one of the stories I very much wanted to finish. I'm working In seriousness towards original writing, and have two novels in progress, but before I even attempt publication, I felt it was only fair to try and finish off some of my old stories.

FT is a special story for me. I know it has its flaws, and goodness only knows it's been a trial to actually write for all the emotion that went into it, but I want to see it through to the end. It's the hardest fanfic I've ever had to write, and I'm grateful for all the support I've had, given the subject matter.

I'm sorry it took so long, but thank you for bearing with me.

* * *

The trial was set for a weekday, some two weeks away. It hardly came as a surprise to Hermione that the news broke and spread rapidly about the arrest of Lucius Malfoy, to say nothing of the fact his son had been discreetly withdrawn from attendance at Hogwarts at his mother's behest.

Much to Hermione's relief, the reason for Malfoy's arrest seemed to have been kept quiet, though she knew it wouldn't be long until it would be impossible to hide the truth.

All the same, now that she had support, it didn't feel like such a nightmare. Ron had been given exceptional permission to stay with her in her rooms, and when he and Harry weren't able to be with her, Lavender and Parvati distracted her in the most ridiculous ways.

Ron returned one afternoon to find her standing on a small pedestal, wearing what felt like a circus tent. She bit her lip to stop herself laughing at the look on Ron's face, his mouth hanging open in confusion.

"I'm sorry, Parvati," she said, stepping down carefully. "I don't think scarlet and green maternity robes suit me."

"I'll say," Ron agreed. "You looked like a Christmas tree!"

"Doesn't he say the most romantic things?" Lavender simpered, helping Hermione out of the robes. Hermione offered a quick smile, though it wasn't quite as convincing as she hoped it would be.

Parvati's eyes danced. "I think that's his subtle code for 'phwoar'," she said, opening a bag to help Lavender pack away the robes. "Think we should leave the lovebirds to snuggle?"

"Is that a code for 'to discuss how much we've been torturing her with our mum's old clothes'?" Lavender said mischievously. "Because, to be honest, mum looked like a beach ball when she was about to drop me."

"It was kind of you to get a hold of them," Hermione said. She was rubbing her belly distractedly, and looked up in surprise when Ron's arm settled around her shoulder. It drew another wan smile from her. Ever since he'd found out the truth, he had been paying her a lot more attention.

"But yeah," he said, looking down at her, his expression making her feel all warm. "I think snuggle sounds about right."

To her surprise, the two girls didn't giggle. They exchanged looks, then headed for the door at once, carrying their bags. "We'll find you something better," Lavender promised. "Less rainbow-assault."

Hermione nodded, leaning into Ron.

"You okay?" he murmured, as soon as the door closed.

"Fine," she whispered.

"Lying," he said quietly.

Grudgingly, she nodded, letting him guide her over to the sofa. He sat down and pulled her into his lap. Unresisting, she nestled against him, tucking her head against his shoulder. "I didn't think it would affect me like this," she admitted quietly. "The robes."

He kissed her forehead. "You really did look like Christmas puked all over you," he said, gently teasing, but it didn't ease away the unpleasant knot that had clenched up her insides.

"Ron."

He wrapped his arms around her. "You changing your mind?"

She shook her head, but she wasn't sure anymore. She walked her fingers across his chest, tugging at bobbles in the wool of his jumper. It was simple before: keep things secret. Now, the truth was out, and not many months from now, the thing, the person growing inside her would be out too.

She was startled when she felt his hand tug the edge of her jumper, and slip under. A shiver of panic ran down her spine and she froze, staring up at him, when his bare hand touched her skin. Her heart jolted violently against her ribs and she tried to push away from him.

"It's okay," he soothed, gently, his voice calm. "Not doing anything. Just seeing this little lump of a person you have."

"Ron, please," she whispered. She felt sick to her stomach, knowing she was reacting as if he could, as if he _would_…

He withdrew his hand just as gently and kissed her forehead again. "Sorry," he said softly, as she tried to steady her breathing. "Can hardly believe there's anything there. Not even a little bump."

"Little bump," she whispered, her voice trembling so hard she could barely form words. "I can feel it."

To her own surprise, she took his hand in both of her smaller ones, and lifted on top of her jumper. It felt safer, there, not on skin. The swell was there, soft, curving out very gently, almost enough to be imagined. He spread his fingers wide, as if he could cover the whole thing with his hand, and he rubbed in a slow circle.

She covered his hand with hers, holding it still, watching their fingers overlap. "I'm so scared, Ron," she whispered.

"You got through the worst," he said. He wrapped her up in his arms, always so long and gangly, but perfect for their current purpose. "You did all that on your own, and you're not on your own anymore."

She wanted to laugh, but it came out closer to a sob. "No. I have the baby."

He kissed her hair, her forehead, even the bridge of her nose, and rocked her in his warm, safe, loving arms. "I wasn't kidding," he murmured, "when I said I'd be here to help you. That little person in there's going to have the best mum in the world."

"And the worst dad," she whispered. She looked up at him, wondering if it would make her sound like the most terrible person in the world when she asked, "Ron, what if I can't forget where it came from?"

He moved his hand to her belly again, gently. "Nothing can change where it started from," he said quietly, "but it's your choice what you want to do. You know there are options. And I know you've been thinking about them."

She nodded, rubbing her eye with her fist. There was the obvious choice, one she had already failed to make.

Then there was giving it away to someone who might or might not be kind to it. Whenever she was faced with that choice, she remembered how pale and still Harry had been when it was mentioned. She remembered what he had told her about his own flesh and blood, the people who were meant to protect him. It might not happen, but the very thought was enough to make her clutch at the tiny bump protectively.

And finally, there was the choice she kept coming back to: keeping and raising her rapist's child, and trying to love it, even though it might have his face, and his manner, and be nothing of her and all of _him_.

"Whatever happens, you're in there too," Ron said, as if he was reading her mind. "Could be a tiny little bookworm waiting to be handed a copy of Hogwarts: A History." She couldn't help but giggle at the image. "Neville was babbling about something about dominant genes or some Muggle science whatsits. I think he was using it about peas, but it still works: smart and strong like you, taught by you, is going to be a hell of a lot better than anything that Malfoy could make."

Though it warmed her to know what he was trying to do, it didn't help. "That's not how it works, Ron," she murmured.

He hugged her again. "I know," he said softly. "Still, s'true. You're a good influence, you know." He gave her a squeeze. "You even got me and Harry through our OWLs and NEWTs and didn't hex us to kingdom come. The bump'll be lucky to have you."

She touched it again, tentatively. "I don't want to hate it."

"How about we cross that bridge when we get there?" he said. "We have other things to worry about before that."

The trial.

She didn't talk about it, and out of uncertainty, he and Harry didn't broach the subject. All she knew was that whenever it did come up, both of them were more protective than she had ever seen them.

"My parents wanted to be there," she said quietly. "Moral support. I don't think it would be a good idea. Not knowing the Malfoys' friends."

"Mum'll be there," he said. "And dad too, I bet. They could take care of them. If you wanted."

Tears stung Hermione's eyes. "I don't want them to go to any trouble," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "They shouldn't make a fuss."

"Hermione," he sighed, shaking his head mournfully. "You might be the smartest person I know, but you're a bit thick in the head sometimes." He tilted her chin up. "You might not like it, but you're part of the family now and you're stuck with us." He pecked her lightly on the lips. "So there."

Hermione stared at him, then threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

* * *

The day of the trial suited her mood perfectly.

Sleet was lashing down from a sky so pale it was almost white, and a bitter wind whipped at the windows, rattling the panes. Ron insisted on bringing her breakfast, but she only picked at it, and he had to nudge her encouragingly to even take a mouthful. Nightmares had kept her awake half the night, and she had no doubts he was as tired as she was.

She dressed without thinking. The buttons of her blouse fastened up to her neck. The woolly sleeves of her jumper lined up with the cuffs of the blouse. The skirt pressed and neat, falling just below her knees. Her shoes shone. She had polished them until they gleamed. It seemed important at the time.

When she looked in the mirror, she barely recognised herself.

Someone tapped at the door, and Ron opened it before she even turned. "Harry."

Harry slipped into the room. "You okay?"

She stared at him blankly for a moment. "Not especially."

Harry and Ron moved as one, and she was enclosed in between them, only a little bit stifled by jumper and the smell of freshly-cleaned and deodorised boy. She didn't complain, only pulling them both closer, a wall between her and the world.

"We'll be there with your all the way," Harry promised. "They won't let us in the witness stand, but we'll be in the court, and we'll be right beside you as soon as you're done."

"I know," she whispered. "I'm just afraid of what they're going to try to do."

"Malfoy took you hostage on Hogwarts grounds and pretty much admitted to everything anyway," Ron pointed out reasonably. "They only have to go to trial to prove that due whats-it thing."

"Process, Ron," Hermione murmured, her head against his shoulder. "I really hope I'm not sick all over the witness stand."

"Come on," Harry suggested, taking her hand. His fingers were warm around her own hand which felt like it was made of ice. "We'll see if Pomfrey can get your something to settle your stomach. I think she would feel better knowing that she could do something to help."

With Ron's arm around her shoulder, and Harry holding her hand, Hermione let herself be steered out into the corridor. They probably looked quite ridiculous, she realised, but right now, she couldn't think of any place she would rather be.

Madam Pomfrey seemed unsurprised when they entered the infirmary. She insisted that Hermione sit, which only made her feel more self-conscious about the reason they were going to trial in the first place.

"I'm not made of glass," she insisted quietly.

"Of course not, dear," Madam Pomfrey said, pouring several concoctions into a gleaming goblet. "But you'll learn that taking the weight off your feet while you can is a blessing, given your condition."

Hermione took the goblet, looking into the shimmering, pale-green liquid. "My condition," she echoed.

"You okay?" Harry asked, crouching down beside the chair.

She looked at him. "Everyone in the school is going to know soon," she said, "aren't they? I don't think this is something that can stay hidden."

Ron squeezed her shoulder. "So what if they do?" he said. "Not like it was your fault."

Hermione nodded and sipped the potion. The warmth slid down her throat, easing the unpleasant, bitter burn at the back of her throat, but it did nothing to calm her racing thoughts. The Aurors had promised her anonymity, and she knew none of her friends would ever breathe a word of what had happened to her, but a pregnancy wasn't going to be an easy thing to hide, especially not at Hogwarts.

The automatic speculation would come down to Harry or Ron. They were the obvious candidates, and she didn't mind which was subject to more speculation, as long as no one got closer to the truth.

What, though, was to stop Malfoy or his allies from leaking the truth? After all, if they were ignorant about the inability of Muggleborns to prevent unwanted pregnancies, that meant others in the Wizarding world could also be unaware. They might use that. They could throw her to the wolves, let her be torn apart, preying on the ignorance to blame Hermione herself, to say she wanted to be violated, to be pregnant. They could say she lured Malfoy into it. Even used magic to make him defy his principles.

The cup was trembling in her hands, and she jolted when Ron hugged her.

"Sickle for your thoughts?" he asked softly.

"Daydreaming," she replied weakly.

"Looked more like a day-mare," Harry murmured, his hand resting on her knee. "Hermione, no one will blame you for any of this. He was in the wrong. You're the victim. Don't forget that."

She was startled to realise she was crying, hot tears rolling down her cheeks. "I know," she whispered. "But my mind is going in circles, about what I could have done to stop it. If I really want to stop it, I should have been able to." She shivered, stifling a sob. "I shouldn't have let it happen."

Harry glanced up at Ron, and then they were both hugging her again.

"You can tell your brain that it's being ridiculous, from me," Ron murmured, nuzzling the top of her head. "You didn't want it to happen. You fought. He was just stronger and nastier than you. You didn't deserve any of it."

"But…"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted, "You told him to stop, didn't you?" She nodded, hiding her face from him. "You didn't want him to do it, did you?" She shook her head. "You tried to get away from him, didn't you?"

"I still…"

"Hermione, he _attacked_ you." Harry's fingertips lifted her chin, making her look at him. His eyes really were very green. "It's as simple as that. You didn't deserve it or provoke it or anything. Sometimes, no matter how hard we fight, it's not enough. He's the one in the wrong here."

"And he's just a bastard," Ron added.

"A bastard," Harry agreed.

She hastily wiped at her cheeks with her fingers, and when that seemed insufficient, Ron and Harry both produced handkerchiefs in various stages of decay. She couldn't help giggling weakly as they unfolded them and compared them.

"Here," Harry said, giving her his. "You're less likely to catch something."

"Thanks, I'm sure," Ron grumbled, though Hermione could feel him smile against her hair.

* * *

The Ministry of Magic once fascinated Hermione, but now, she felt small and insignificant in a place too big, too distant and too unsympathetic. Dozens of people were coming and going when she, Ron, Harry and Professor Dumbledore emerged from the floo network.

The Headmaster was to be a witness as well, but she was grateful that he had not tried to school her in what should be said or how she should act.

All he had said, before they left Hogwarts, was that the truth was her defence and that would be enough. Hearing it from him had comforted her, oddly, but now, in the Ministry, the truth no longer felt like it would be enough.

She tightened her grip on Ron's hand, and she knew he was looking down at her as they walked, concerned. She wished she could tell him he didn't need to worry, but that would have been nonsense. She kept her head down instead, admiring the way the distant lights reflected off the floor and her very shiny shoes.

They got a lift to themselves, descending towards the court rooms, and Hermione leaned against Ron as the lift rattled onwards. She offered Harry a wan smile, when he caught and squeezed her other hand as the lift shuddered to a halt.

"I am afraid we must part ways here, Miss Granger," Dumbledore murmured as they emerged into the gleaming black corridor. Two Aurors were waiting for them. "Mr Potter and Mr Weasley cannot accompany us into the witness chamber."

She nodded, licking her lips nervously. "I'll be able to see you all?"

"From the gallery," Ron promised. "I'll wave or something." He pulled her into a quick, warm hug. "You'll be fine. Just tell them the truth and there's no way he'll get away with it."

She nodded, then accepted a hug from Harry. He murmured close to her ear, "And if anything does go wrong, we'll find him and hex him into oblivion for you."

She laughed weakly. "Harry."

He pressed his cheek to hers. "Truth," he murmured. "He's not getting away with this."

She blinked hard, her eyes itching again, and pushed him away. "Go on. You'll be late."

Reluctantly, both the boys turned and headed towards the main doors of the courtroom, leaving her standing beside Dumbledore, feeling even smaller than ever. A long-fingered hand came to rest on her shoulder.

"Come, Miss Granger," he murmured. "We must take our place."

What followed was a blur of court protocol and paperwork. She tried to listen, to pay attention, but words washed over her like a wave on the shore, barely there then gone. She put quill to paper several times, but could not have said what she was signing, and when a cup was placed in her hand, she stared at it in confusion.

Then, she understood. She had said, once, that she would freely speak under veritaserum, if it was required. The liquid was the same colour, and though she had never taken the potion before, she knew it to be odourless and flavourless.

Dumbledore murmured. "You can drink, if you feel it will strengthen you."

She swirled the cup. "Will it harm the baby?" she said quietly. He shook his head. Without hesitation, she drained the contents of the cup and handed it back to the Auror.

"I commend your bravery," the Professor said quietly, as the Aurors withdrew.

"It isn't brave," Hermione replied, looking down at her hands. "It's necessary."

He laid his hand gently on her shoulder again, and they waited in silence for their names to be called. She was summoned first, and rose on legs that were trembling. Her footsteps echoed all the way to the high ceilings as she was led from the waiting chamber to the vast court room.

Members of the Wizengamot were in attendance, which was no surprise given the status of the Malfoy bloodline. They seldom sat in trials for crimes that were not magical in nature, and had no real reason to be there, save for solidarity with one of an older house.

One of the Aurors led her to the podium, and she tried to grip the rail as she mounted the steps, her hands sliding on the polished brass. Her palms were cold with sweat, and she breathed deeply, trying to swallow down a fresh surge of nausea.

Only when she was seated in the witness stand did she lift her head. To her left, the Chief Justice was seated at a higher podium, looking severe and unsympathetic. Directly opposite her, the group she assumed to be Jurors were seated in three rows, staring at her in a way that made her feel like something lying on a dissection table.

Thankfully, to her right, the gallery was open, and she caught sight of Ron, seated alongside both their parents and Harry. Her mother was white and looked nervous, but she offered Hermione an encouraging smile and nod. It took a little effort, but Hermione managed to offer the same in return. Ron raised a clenched fist in what Hermione could only imagine was a gesture of solidarity.

Only then did she look down into the heart of the chamber.

In the middle of the black-and-white tiled floor, Lucius Malfoy was seated in a formidable, high-backed wooden chair, bound with both magical and physical restraints. He looked haggard, his hair pulled back in a ponytail, and though he was dressed in formal robes, he looked as if he had slept in them for several days.

He didn't look at her, for which Hermione was immensely grateful. She looked away from him, and at the inside of the podium she was sitting within. The wood was polished and gleaming, and she placed the toes of her shoes carefully against the base. Carefully, she folded her hands in her lap, clasping them together to keep them from trembling.

When the Chief Justice spoke her name, she drew a deep breath before she looked up at him. Calm. Steady. She managed to keep her voice from shaking as she confirmed her name and answered several questions set to prove her identity. She returned her gaze to a point on the inside of her podium, then, focussing on a screw. It was easier to be calm when she had somewhere to concentrate.

The questions about the attack, when they came, were direct and to the point.

If she put the location to one side, she could almost treat it as if were an exam. Simple questions put forward that required succinct and clear answers, with extra credit for showing working. She knew the answers. She could detail every moment from the arrival of Lucius Malfoy to her room until the moment he left.

With the veritaserum aiding her, the words flowed smoothly. She wondered if that was why her voice didn't break. The fear was still there, but she didn't stumble, didn't stammer, every word as clear as crystal.

There were other sounds too, she noticed distractedly. She could hear her own words ring in her ears, echoing, but she could also hear the rustle of papers, of robes shifting, even the rasping breathing of a heavyset wizard in the group opposite her. Somewhere, distantly, she registered a sob. It sounded like her mother.

Finally, when the questions stopped, she dared a glance towards the gallery. Ron's face was pale under his red hair, but he nodded at her, and mouthed "Well done". Harry offered a tight, little smile. She could see her parents holding onto one another's hands. Her mother's face was shining with tears.

On the main floor, there were footsteps. Hermione looked down to see a formally-attired witch, with a stern, thin face and small, square spectacles, standing beside Malfoy. The man had barely moved, but the woman was looking straight at her.

When the woman started asking questions, the cool aggression of them startled Hermione enough to make her heart pound rapidly against her breastbone. She asked all the things Hermione had been afraid of: had she enticed Malfoy into her company, did she take pleasure in their encounter, and - in what could only be an attempt at incrimination - how could she possibly have fallen pregnant and elected to keep her alleged assailant's child if it was not a child born of mutual pleasure.

Hermione's fingers were laced together so tightly she was sure she would hear the bones snap at any moment. She stared at the woman, then forced her attention to Malfoy, who had lifted his head an inch or two.

He was the one to blame: a man who hated anyone who was not born of pureblood. A man who had probably tortured and killed Muggles for entertainment. A man who based a person's worth on where they came from.

The room was so still that they could have heard a pin drop, waiting for an answer.

"I chose to keep the baby, _my_ baby," she said slowly and clearly, "because unlike Mister Malfoy, I don't think an innocent child should be blamed for its origins."

It felt as if a great weight had been lifted away from her then, as the words echoed through the chamber.

"Thank you, Miss Granger," the Chief Justice said gravely. "You may step down."

Her legs were shaking more as she descended than they had before. It was as if all the tension which had been gathered in her body was escaping, taking balance, coordination and the simple ability to stand upright with it.

Ron met her by the door and pulled her into a warm hug. There was a bench close to the wall, and he guided her to sit, and she started to laugh, shakily. It had to be relief, she thought, as the laughter gave way to tears and then to silent, gulping sobs.

"You were amazing," Ron murmured, smoothing her hair. "Sounded like you were calm as anything."

"S-sounded like," she said in a shaky whisper. "I was sure I was going to burst into tears of throw up or something."

"But you didn't, and it's over with," he said, kissing her on the forehead. "Come on. Let's get you back to the witness room. Dumbledore was just called to the stand, so it should be empty for now."

It wasn't empty, though.

Standing by the empty fireplace, Narcissa Malfoy was gazing emotionlessly at the ornate mantle clock. Her hands were folded behind her, and she only glanced over her shoulder when they entered the room.

Ron ignored her, taking Hermione over to one of the comfortable chairs, then hurrying over to a table and pouring her a glass of butterbeer. He sat down attentively beside her, holding the cup when she didn't immediately claim it.

Hermione's gaze was fixed on Malfoy's wife. She was speaking against her husband, which was unexpected. All the same, Hermione couldn't help wondering against her motives. The woman's expression was neutral, unreadable, and she barely moved, except to let her hands fall by her sides.

Ron pressed the butterbeer into Hermione's hands, and with his free hand, he rubbed her back. "You should drink," he said. "It's good for calming the nerves. I could even get you some chocolate, if you want."

"I'm fine, Ron," she murmured, watching Narcissa. To placate him, she sipped a little of the frothy drink.

The only sound in the room was the tick of the clock. Narcissa Malfoy paced across the room, adding the click of her heels to the quiet. She stayed on the far side of the room, though, as if crossing the middle of the room would put her too close to them for comfort.

Hermione wondered what the woman could be thinking. Maybe it was simply a case of the wrath of a woman scorned. After all, even if it was through coercion to rape a Muggleborn, Narcissa's husband had still had sexual contact with another woman. That would be enough to make any woman furious. Hermione doubted it was because of the assault. Narcissa Malfoy did not seem the least sympathetic about that.

When the door opened, the creak of the hinges broke the tense silence. Hermione looked around, as an Auror indicated to Narcissa that she was now due to take the stand.

To her own surprise, Hermione said quietly, "Mrs Malfoy."

Cool eyes flicked towards her, disdain visible in them.

"Thank you."

Narcissa Malfoy's thin upper lip curled up, and she folded her arms over her chest. "Thank me?" she said in a chilly voice. "This is not about you, you filthy little Mudblood. This is about my husband sullying me."

"Don't you _dare_…" Ron snarled, leaping to his feet.

"Puff and preen all you want, little boy," Narcissa said, eyes flashing. "Your Mudblood whore has tainted my family name and reputation. My husband was a fool to obey, ruining what dignity he had left. He will not have the chance to do so again."

She turned and swept out, imperious as a Queen.

Hermione stared blankly after her.

"What a grade-A bitch," Ron snorted, outraged.

"You know," Hermione said vaguely, "I'm a little relieved she's not actually cross with me. Imagine what a bitch she would be if she was."

Ron stared at her. "After what she called you?"

Hermione offered him a small, tired smile. "I've been called that often enough now, Ron," she said. "I think she's the first person who doesn't care what happened to me, and more about what happened to herself." She shook her head, dazed. "I didn't know Mudblood was contagious."

"You're not…"

"I _am_ Mudblood and proud of it," Hermione interrupted, her voice stronger. "I think I've proved we're capable of being better people than anyone." She breathed deeply, then exhaled. "I'm done, now. I've said my piece, and they know I used veritaserum, so it was all truth."

"They what?"

"They gave me veritaserum before I came in. It made it easier for me to speak."

Ron shook his head. "Don't mean to break a spell," he said, "but that was all you. They probably gave you something to calm your nerves. They don't allow veritaserum in the trials. It's still classed as a potentially dangerous substance, since the dosage has to be precise. They had a case where someone was telling the truth, but only about the things he was hallucinating when he took too big a dose."

Hermione stared at him. "That was all me?"

He nodded and kissed the tip of her nose. "My tough old girl."

She punched him lightly in the belly, smiling truly for the first time in months.


End file.
